


Outer space is rather large

by MorteMistrata



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, One Shot Collection, no ship hate, some ships some not, taking requests
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:29:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 65,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9862637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorteMistrata/pseuds/MorteMistrata
Summary: A series of one shots about the various Voltron characters.Accepting requests.





	1. Lance: Selfless

It wasn’t that Lance wanted to die. 

It was just that he didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. Without Kieth, they would be down a skilled pilot and melee fighter. If Pidge was hurt, they would be seriously technologically crippled. An injured Hunk would leave them without an engineer, which was a critically needed skill in such an advanced universe. Shiro was their leader, and having him injured would be like cutting off Voltron’s head. Allura was their cultural jack of all trades; without her, they would be seriously lost. But Lance? What did he do that was so important? Sharpshooting was an easily learned ability, and although he had a knack for it, it wasn’t an irreplaceable skill. Just like him.

There was no special quality needed to pilot the Blue Lion. She accepted any who came to her with an open heart. Hell, the specifications for the other lions made everyone one else irreplaceable, but Lance? Any old person walking down the street could replace him. 

It was a little disheartening, but at least he knew how to make up for it. If he could, he’d take all the injuries that the others sustained. He knew that was impossible, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. 

The first time was with Coran. He was in the Cryopod for a week and came out brand new. Keith had been a bit more concerned than he had expected, but nothing was amiss. He had even helped to save the day, preventing the castle from being taken by the Galra. That was when he first decided to put the other’s safety above his own.

The second time he risked his life was for Pidge. It was during a siege on the moon of Alzan, in which they had had to split up and pair up to cover the whole thing. He had gone with Pidge, for no real reason really other than she was closest. He was glad that he did however, when the Galra ship they had been chasing suddenly split open, revealing a massive EMP gun. By placing it in the middle of their ship, it had been effectively hidden from their scanners and protected from their shots. Pidge was the closest to it. She had been trying to find a chink in it’s armor, and Lance had stayed to the side to draw its fire from the main guns on it’s side. It was only by luck that he realized what it was before it fired. Lance slammed into Pidge, pushing her lion into the canyon wall beside them, but out of the range of fire. He didn’t remember what happened next all to clearly. He recalled sudden darkness as the Lion’s systems went down. He remembered that sense of falling, like he was completely out of control. And he remembered that feeling of smug pride that he had kept someone useful from being injured. He woke up two weeks later in a Cryopod with scars on his chest and a relieved crew waiting for him.

The fifth time was for Shiro. The Galra always either went for him, or Pidge. Probably so they could take out the strongest and seemingly weakest opponents respectively. Lance had noticed this, and had planned for it specifically. Shiro had asked for one of them to accompany Pidge and him on a mission, and Lance had volunteered. When they arrived at the holding center, dressed as refugees and therefore armourless, Lance had known that something would happen. He had always had intuition about those sort of things; at home it had been especially helpful when he was babysitting the younger ones. It had come in handy in space too. Like right then, when the Galra were scanning the refugees and bio-chipping them; he felt uneasy about it. Shiro’s arm may have been covered in makeup, but it probably wouldn’t pass the Galra’s tests. He motioned to Pidge and Shiro, and they tried to go further back in line, but their movements against the flow brought them Galra attention. Which of course led to a fight, a hopelessly uneven one, in which Lance couldn’t fire because of the congestion of refugees. All he could do was watch and attempt to delay soldiers from reaching Shiro. Which meant that he couldn’t keep an eye on him like he had planned to. Three Galra cornered the Black Paladin, forcing him into the firing range of one of the snipers. Lance saw him, tried to push him out of the way, but only moved him partially. Both of them were hit, but neither injured severely.

Lance hadn’t spoke to either of them on the way back to the castle, even though they tried their best to engage him in a conversation. He instead busied himself with attending to both Shiro’s and his own injuries. The shot hurt of course, but not nearly as much at the last time he had been shot. That had literally left a hole in his shoulder as well as a circular scar. This one should leave a big scar, or at least it would’ve if he had’ve done his damn job and blocked it. This was the one thing he had gotten good at, and he failed at it. 

Lance thought that no one had noticed his quiet anger. He was good at hiding things like that; it was something you learned, growing up in a big family like his. So I came as a surprise when Shiro asked to talk to him, alone. Alone usually meant something important, and private. It wasn’t hard to think of the subject matter. Still, he couldn’t exactly say no to his leader, so he quietly followed him into the kitchen and sat down beside him, a lazy smile carefully crafted on his face.

“Lance, is there a reason why you keep getting hurt?” Shiro said, straight to the point.

Lance scratched at a scar on his arm. “Everybody gets hurt; it’s a part of war.”

Shiro shook his head and crossed his arms. Oh boy. He was really in Space Dad mode now. “You personally get hurt way more than anyone else has. You’ve used the Cryopods four times since all of this began. No one else has even gone in more than once.”

“I’m just a danger magnet. No need to worry.” Lance said, flashing an almost flirty smile. Almost.

Shiro crossed the distance between them in two strides and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her metal hand. “You can let someone else get hurt once in awhile Lance. One of these days it’ll be irreparable damage and-”

Lance throws his hands up in exasperation, knocking away Shiro’s arm. “It won’t matter. If I freakin’ die out here, it doesn’t matter! You can always replace me Shiro. There are plenty of Lance’s out there, and only one Hunk, one Kieth, one Pidge and one you! Just let me help!”

Shiro stood silently for a moment. Lance steamed under his gaze; it made him feel stupid, or something. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the feeling, but it was a bad one for sure! Then Shiro did something that he hadn’t quite expected. He crossed that distance again, only this time he didn’t stop until his arms were around Lance in a tight but not restricting hug. “You’re just as important as the rest of us, Lance. You don’t have to give up your health to be worthy of being a paladin. We need you, for you.”

Lance can’t quite give up his old habits, even after that, but he’s found that he’s been injured a lot less since then.


	2. Pidge: The misgendering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge is really confused. Where did they get that idea from?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note:  
> Before anyone gets offended, I'd like to explain why I included this one-shot. I am gender-fluid, but my birth sex is female. I understand the LGBT community and I'd absolutely love to have more LGBT characters in media, especially cartoons. But, I also think it's important to have variation in female characters too. Most geek girls, or nerdy females on tv are ridiculously pretty, with a pair of glasses added in to give the 'nerd' look to her. I think it's important to have girls like Pidge, who are just fine with their gender, but present less girlishly and more realistically. While I have nothing against non-binary Pidge stories, I've seen a heck of a lot of them, and a lot less of female Pidge stories. I just wanted to bring a new take on her character, especially with the aggressive view on her character. (You may have also noticed the aggressiveness in the different ships, but that's a different one shot.) 
> 
> Feel free to send in prompts and ideas for me to write. I'll write any ship, any gender, anything really. And I mean it.

Pidge wasn’t sure where they first got the idea for it. Sure, she had been pretending to be a boy for the majority of the past year. And yeah, she had kept her new aesthetic. But she had never said that she wasn’t a girl. In fact, she straight out said it when she revealed her deception. So how in the hell did the team think that she was nonbinary?!

 

She hadn’t realised it at first, that they hadn’t been using female pronouns. Or any, for that matter. It took her a while to realize it. The first time that had she thought about it was on their third game night.

 

“I put down a five, man. You can’t just drop a seven out of nowhere; you have to coordinate.” Lance said, waving his cards around to accent his complaint. Pidge noted that he had a draw four card and an abundance of blue cards. 

 

Keith huffed and reshuffled his cards. “Both cards are yellow. You can match colors too.”

 

“No, you can’t.” Lance insisted. This time Pidge caught sight of another card, a yellow skip card. 

 

Pidge sighed. This was the third time this round that they’d gotten into card mechanics. Pidge had already clarified the rules, multiple times. Hell, even Allura was getting and understanding of it. “You have to match the color or the number. Keith’s move was valid.” She explained, pointing to each of the offending cards in turn.

 

Keith fanned himself with his cards. “Thank you.”

 

Lance grumbled. “They can’t possibly remember all the freaking rules for every freaking card game we get.”

 

They? Who the hell was ‘they’? Pidge was the only one who had the rule books to just about every earth game down pact.The only one that she was contested on was Monopoly, but they changed the rules for that one too many times for her interpretation to matter, let alone anyone else’s.

 

Hunk nudged her and she placed down a greed skip card. Lance frowned as his turn was skipped. 

 

Pidge didn’t bother thinking too hard on the offending pronoun. It must’ve been a slip on the tongue, nothing more.

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

The second time that it occurred was a week later, at the dinner table.

 

“Pass me the salt.” Someone said, mouth filled with food. 

 

Pidge hadn’t really been paying attention to anything other than her plate. She was tired as hell and hungry enough to eat a cow from the past four hours of grueling training. She shoveled more of Hunk’s cooking into her mouth, not bothering to look up.

 

“Yo, Pidge. The salt.” Lance repeated, slightly annoyed at the delay in his request. 

 

Pidge looked up, a few noodles hanging out of her mouth. Lance pointed at Hunk and then his food. Hunk had a thing about salt on his food; to him, it was both unneeded and unnecessary, not to mention slightly insulting. Rather than incurring the wrath of the formidable Hunk, the plan was to discreetly let a Paladin close to the salt shaker know, before passing it under the table. She slurped the noodles into her mouth and slipped the salt into her palm. Lance grabbed it from her hand and poured some into his hand before sprinkling it over his food.

 

“I can’t imagine that they find the food that amazing, that they never need any salt of their own.” Lance mumbled.

 

Hunk slid his chair back and searched the table top for the missing salt shaker. “What’s that about salt?” He asked menacingly.

 

Pidge shrugged it off as a misspoken word and finished her food. She was too hungry to stop for polite conversation and didn’t exactly feel in the mood to interfere in Lance and Hunk’s impending search for salt.

 

The third time that she thought about it was on the way to the training room. 

 

Hunk walked beside her in comfortable silence. That was one of the things that she liked the most about him. He was easy to be around because he understood people. He knew when to be quiet and when to talk and when to be serious and when to interject with a funny quip. 

 

As they approached the elevator that would bring them to the training room, his expression shifted nervously. Pidge tried to ignore it, but he kinda looked like he had to go pee really bad and she was unsure if she was supposed to be concerned. 

 

“Is something wrong?” Pidge finally asked.

 

Hunk sighed in relief, a big gust of air leaving him as if he was a balloon that she stuck a pin in. “It’s been really bugging me, but I didn’t want to annoy you with it.” He took a deep breath, and when he released it, he brought his words with it. “Are your pronouns ‘they’ and ‘them’?”

 

Pidge blinked. That was new. While she had known more than a few people that identified as such, she never thought that she could be interpreted as a nonbinary. She laughed nervously. “Uh, sorry to break it you Hunk, but I’m a girl. Just the standard ‘she’ and ‘her’ for me, thank you very much.”

 

“Really?” Hunk questioned, brow raised unbeleivabely high.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Oh.” He said, somewhat still in shock as they entered the training deck. For such an intuitive crew, it came as a surprise to them to find out her gender, for the second time. It was an even bigger surprise when she admitted that she was gay a week later.


	3. Hushay: The visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk and Shay have some differences, but do they really matter so much?

Hunk wondered if Shay had any allergies. Considering the limited food choices that they’d have, she could have any number of allergens and not know of them. And it would be really embarrassing to give her pancakes, only for her to have to be immediately rushed to the castle’s healing pods. What a terrible way to end a date. He sighed. It wasn’t a date. He didn’t even know if dating was something that Balmerans did. Heck, at one of the planets that they’d rescued, they were assigned lifelong mates by the government. Back to the issue at hand Hunk. He glared at the assorted dishes. He obviously couldn't bring the kitchen back the Balmera, which meant that he had to choose which ones to bring, rather than just making some there. But which ones to choose? 

“Hurry up Hunk! Your girlfriend isn't gonna wait forever!” Lance called, sticking his head into the doorway, then disappearing behind it again as Hunk threw a raisin-like fruit at him. 

Hunk had to stifle the urge to yell back an indignant, ‘She's not my girlfriend.’ because truthfully, he didn’t know what they were. More than friends probably, but they definitely weren't dating. Maybe. Hunk knew next to nothing about her culture and she knew absolutely nothing about him, other than he was a Paladin and that he came from Earth.

Hunk surveyed the array of dishes that he had made. There were nine in total, each one an alien bastardization of popular Earth foods. Considering that the bulk of the food that grew on the Balmera was bland and dull, the sweet and spicy dishes would probably be the most interesting to her. He gently packed four or five of them into his cooler (made in Coran’s workshop), and after making sure that they were secure, rushed downstairs to the hangar. 

Rather than risk their lions on what was essentially a social trip, Lance and Hunk had decided to take the castle’s shuttles for their day trip. Although Hunk would’ve been fine on his own, it had been decided after a certain incident (cough, cough, the mall) that all non-mission related traveling must take place in pairs. And who was the only volunteer to go to a relatively technology free and peaceful planet? His best friend of course. (Hunk was 99% sure Lance was only going in order to finally meet Shay again, in a non-stressful situation.)

“I call dibs on piloting.” Lance called, running past him into the ship. 

Hunk adjusted his cooler as he sat down in the passenger’s seat. He carefully strapped the seat belt over both him and the food. “No contest there.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender. 

Lance pouted, and then launched off. “What, don’t trust me with your little ‘present’?”

Hunk laughed. “Not in a million years. Knowing you, there’ll be nothing left when we get there if you hold it.”

The flight was gonna be short, thankfully. If the ride was too long, the different juices and spices and forms of the food would change and mix, and all of the effort he put into the feast would be worthless. It would really suck if the food got messed up before Shay got to try it; he wanted to see how her face lit up when she tasted something new. Just like when she had first saw the sun.

OoOoOoO

When they landed, the first to meet them was Shay’s grandmother. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Yellow Paladin.” She said as Hunk bent down to hug her. 

Hunk had told her many times to just call him by her name, but once she learned of his position on Team Voltron, he found it impossible to convince her to call him otherwise. 

“It’s nice to see you again too, Ma’am. I missed your stew.” Hunk replied as he straightened up. Behind him, Lance exited the ship, striding over to Shay’s grandmother confidently. For a moment Hunk was afraid that Lance would say something stupid, or do something disrespectful, but as he watched Lance meet Grandma in an informal hug, he realized that he had nothing to worry about. Lance had a huge family; obviously he would know how to interact with someone’s SO’s family. 

Hunk paused. Did he really just think of Shay as his Significant Other?

“Hunk!” Shay called, pulling him from his thoughts. “It is nice to see you again.” She was much more reserved than her grandmother. Was it a cultural thing? Should he have asked Allura about it before he left? Damn. What if he committed a cultural taboo by accident?

Lance dropped his hand on Hunk’s shoulder and squeezed him in reassurance. “It’s nice to meet you formally, Shay. Hunk’s talked about you a lot.”

Shay giggled. “Has he now?”

Hunk could feel his face start to burn. “I, uh, yeah.” He remembered what the weight in his arms was, and thrust it at her abruptly. She flinched, and he remembered how life must have been for her, under the rule of the Galra. “I-I-I um, made some food for you. I figured it’d be different than the usual stuff you eat.”

Shay smiled and grabbed Hunk’s arm. “That sounds grand.” She began to lead him away, leaving Lance and her grandmother behind at the ship. Lance offered him a thumbs up as he looked behind him, and turned back to Shay’s grandma, which then laughed at something Lance had said. 

“So what it this ‘sweet’ flavor that you like so much?” Shay asked as he looked away from the ship. 

He rubbed the back of his head. “It’s easier to taste than describe.” Shay’s grip on his arm fell loose and slid down until she was only barely grabbing his wrist. He slid his hand into hers. “I think it’s kinda like what the nicest person on this whole Balmera would taste like, if you ate their personality.”

“And who would that be?” Shay’s hand was warm, and rough with calluses from her life in the mines. Her thumb brushed over his knuckles and all he could think was that Lance was so much better at this type of thing. If pick-up lines were a course at the garrison, he’d have passed with straight A’s long ago. And god, was his hand as sweaty as he thought it was? Could Shay feel it? 

“Um,” He stuttered. “You”

With his food in one hand, and Shay in the other, he realised that at least one thing was the same between them. If there were millions of differences between them, he didn’t care as long as they both felt this same way.


	4. Shallura: The Banquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After saving a planet, the Paladins must go to a banquet thrown in their honor. Shallura.

Allura surveyed the public closet. Rows and rows of clothes passed by her, spinning slowly so that she could survey each outfit as it passed. A Ghalli style suit drifted towards her, and immediately Shiro came to mind. The monochromatic outfit was similar in style to the formal Earthian suits Lance had shown her, except for the absence of a tie or bow, and the sash that kept the tunic closed, as well as the crisp creases of the pants and- Oh, Quiznack. It was nothing like an Earth suit, if she was being truthful to herself. She laid it on the couch behind her and continued her search. 

After rescuing the Almian peoples from the Galra’s tyranny, the royal family had decided to throw a banquet in their honor. As flattering as that was, it was proving to be extremely hard to get prepared for it. Being royalty herself, Allura was used to the conventions of parties such as this. She had grown up in long evening gowns, and had spent much of her adolescence throwing banquets of her own. The problem was everyone else. Aside from Lance, none of the Paladins were exactly excited to come. They understood well enough why they had to come, but that didn’t mean that they were ready to go to it. Pidge and Keith’s manners were atrocious; neither of them had any idea how to eat using a formal table setting, nor how to interact with high class. Coran was working on teaching them the basics now, but that didn’t solve the problem of wardrobe. All five of them had only worn the same outfit that they had come to the castle in since they had arrived, and while she could deal with the fashion rules that they broke by doing so, their clothing choices would not hold up to Almian scrutiny. Which was why she was picking the outfits out alone, rather than with Lance, who had been the only volunteer. 

A yellow robe slowly spun past her, and she hoped it was in Hunk’s size. As she pulled it off of the rack, she sighed in relief; it was stretchwear, meant to change size depending on who wore it. It was similar enough in style to the Ghalli suit, which meant that she could pull off a common theme if she found three more like it. Similarity was important, Allura thought, looking down at her own dress. They had to show a unified force, even in clothing. Her usual gown wouldn’t make the cut; she’d have to change later, after she found outfits for the other paladins.

She saw a flash of pale green, and focused on the rack once more. Ah, yes; finally something that Pidge would look at home in. The shirt was long and gauzy, with a scooped collar and no sleeves. It would probably fall down to Pidge’s knees, meaning that the darker green pants were optional. She dropped both on the couch and turned back to the closet. 

Allura wondered how Shiro would look in that suit. He always wore minimalist clothing, and it suited him, it did. But seeing as he never wore anything else, she was curious as to how formality would suit him. He was every bit as regal as she was, but he was different, not just because of the difference in species. He was something better, something more than she was. He was great because he had to be. She was great because she was raised to be. 

She wondered what he’d look like without any clothes on. 

Two Mjorniad robes passed by and she she grabbed them, closing the closet behind her. Both were of the same cut and style; short, criss-crossing tunics with simple but elegant pants. She was sure Lance would throw a fit because of the similar clothing, but she was too tired to keep looking. 

Gathering the clothes in her arms, she left the room, the distinct image of a naked Shiro seared in her mind.

OoOoOoO

Shiro wasn't exactly surprised that wearing fancy clothes resulted in one of those stereotypical ‘Wow, you look so different now that you're fancy.’ moments. However, he was surprised to find himself having one of those moments. 

As Allura stepped into the control room, a serene smile on her face, he found himself no longer paying attention to Lance and Keith’s squabble. He had seen her in fancy dress before; she had worn them since they had met, her only real change in outfit being her battle jumpsuit. This dress was completely different. 

The light pink fabric clung to her body like water, highlighting the gentle strength of her stomach and the curve of her waist. It’s simple skirt fell to her feet, while the top revealed most of her shoulders and neck.  
Her hair fell in gentle waves around her shoulders in a complicated half-up, half-down hairstyle, allowing her dark skin to contrast the bright colors of her dress and hair.

She broke the silence that had since taken over the room. “Is everyone ready to go?”

Behind him, Lance called. “Don't forget that you promised me a dance, Princess.”

Lance yelped as Keith elbowed him. “She’s gonna dance with all of us. Tradition, remember?”

Shiro could count on both hands the number of times that he’d been so relieved. Thank whoever was out there listening that he didn't have to ask her to dance of his own volition. If he stepped on her feet, or danced badly, he could blame tradition for putting him there.

“Thank you, Keith.” Allura replied, a small hint of a blush on her cheeks. “The Almian’s would appreciate it if you traveled in your lions to the banquet. The civilians, and children especially, would appreciate seeing them in person.” She turned to Shiro. “I'll be riding with you if you don't mind.”

Shiro smiled nervously and hoped that it wasn't noticeable. “Of course, Princess.”

Despite Lance’s protests, Allura rides with Shiro back to Almia.

The ride was quiet. No one felt the need to comm him, allowing Allura to fill the silence with anecdotes about previous experiences in court, or about the struggle of teaching manners to the Paladins who lacked them. By the time they arrived at the palace, Shiro was calm and the prospect of their expected dance wasn't so daunting. However, since the beginning of the ride, he had noticed that her eye markings had glowed. He didn't ask her about it, even though he had plenty of chances to on their walk into the castle.

They are welcomed warmly by the King who leads them deep into the castle, through crowds of civilians who chant their names and swoon at something as simple as a smile. The humanoid figures of the Almians are similar to that of humans; the main differences are the wings that some of them sport, scaled and dull and the hues of blue that seem to be their main skin tone. Lance enjoys the attention, while Keith and Hunk nervously walk through the crowds.

They are seated in the seats of honor at the King's table, and are immediately offered what looks like rich seafood. They all remember to refuse it twice before accepting, although Keith almost forgets on the second offer. The feast is fun and rowdy after the initial start, and Shiro’s glass is never empty of the strange wine-like drink that the King insists on. Allura seems at home amongst the royalty, Shiro notes as the High Prince compliments her battle prowess. 

“Why thank you, Prince Lamad. I have heard much of your own resistance efforts and I admire what you have achieved.” Allura responds, flashing him a gentle smile before taking a modest sip of her own drink.

The music starts, and Shiro doesn’t catch the rest of their conversation. He turns back to one of the High Ladies, who asks something else about Earth. He tries not to pay attention to the pair anymore, but as the music stops for a brief interlude, he has no choice but to overhear.

Prince Lamad stands and offers her a hand. “May I have your first dance?”

Allura nods her head, only looking back at him for a short second before accepting his hand. “I'd love to.”

Shiro tells himself that he’s not jealous when Prince Lamad spins her across the floor in a series of impossible moves. Shiro knows that he can't dance like that. It's impossible. Literally impossible, he thinks, at least without the years of training that the both of them have received.

The High Lady, whose name Shiro doesn't recall, asks him to dance, and he accepts. She leads him onto the dance floor, her wings taut against her back in excitement, as the next song begins. The first few notes are similar to that of a violin, and he wonders if he can even do this dance. Then the music begins, and he finds himself led across the dance floor in what resembles a waltz. He tries to be polite. Tries to keep his attention on his dance partner. But Allura passes by him more than once, and her flowing dress catches his eye in the sea of blue creatures. 

Finally the dance ends. Be bows to his partner. “Thank you for the dance.”

The woman smiles. “I hope that was sufficient practice for your dance with the Altean. Good luck.” She turns and approaches the Prince. He is reculent to drop his hand from her arm, to leave her but tradition gives him no choice, and so he dances with the woman instead.

Allura meets his eye and smiles, the markings on her face lighting up as he crosses the distance between them. He offers his hand. “May I have this dance?”

“I'd love to.”

The music starts again, this time more similar to electronic Beethoven, if that was a thing. He remembers to place one hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist, and they dance. And all the while, Shiro cannot stop smiling.


	5. Shallura: The Banquet pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Allura gets drunk and everything turns out okay.

It’s been five hours since they’ve started dancing, and her face markings still glow. Shiro is ninety-nine percent sure that she’d know if it were dangerous, so he doesn’t ask. Instead, he offers her a hand as the final dance commences. She smiles brightly, as if dancing for the most part of the night hasn’t tired her out. As they enter the dance floor, Shiro sees an ornately decorated Almian lead Pidge over, while Lance drags a badly blushing Keith into the open space. Hunk walks with a royal of indeterminate gender over to the food table; Shiro can see the beginnings of a serious discussion begin, even from a distance.

The music begins, and his attention snaps back to Allura, who giggles at Keith’s attempts to dance. “As soon as we get back to the castle, I’m giving that boy dancing lessons.”

Shiro chuckles. “I could probably use them too.”

“Oh, you’re doing fine. At least you can feel the beat. Keith looks like he’s having a seizure.” The music is slow but energizing, and upbeat. Shiro can’t think of an equivalent on Earth, but figures it’s not too hard to dance to. Just moving back and forth, side to side with an occasional spin. The music lurches again, signaling a spin, and Allura takes the opportunity to spin into his arms, with his hands wrapped around her. 

Shiro doesn’t blush, but if he did, he’d be bright red. He can feel the beat of her heart against his chest, steady and fast, like a hummingbird’s. The she spins out again, returning to their former position with his hands on her waist and shoulder. 

“See?” Allura says as they continue to dance. Behind her, they hear a yelp as Keith tumbles onto the floor. 

Shiro replies with a chuckle. He has a perfect opportunity to ask her about it. No one can hear him speak but her; this is one of the few moments of privacy that he gets. “I’ve been meaning to ask you- You’re markings have been glowing all evening. What do they mean?”

Allura falters in her steps for the first time, and he immediately regrets asking. Was it a personal question? It probably was. The music fades away and she falls into a fit of laughter, gathering the attention of the paladins nearby. 

“I was wondering when you were going to ask.” She manages in the breaks between her laughter. “You’re horribly oblivious sometimes, Shiro.”

Shiro isn’t exactly sure what to do. So he waits for her to finish. “Uh, Princess?”

She straightens up and loops her arm in his. He starts to lead her off of the dance floor and into the anonymity of the crowd. “I don’t know how they court on your planet, but I was pretty sure I was obvious. I have never been any good at hiding my emotions.”

“Um, Allura, are you okay?” Shiro wonders if she’s drunk. While he himself had a bunch of drinks, it hadn’t had much of an effect other than a buzz.

The Princess giggles again, and a few strands of hair fall out of place. “Shiro,” She takes a few steps in front of him, blocking his path. “I want to court you.”

Shiro doesn’t really know what to say. While he had no shortage of admirers back on Earth, he was always focused on his career, first and foremost and always turned them down. He had positively no idea on how to say yes. Not to mention, he was pretty sure that Allura was drunk. 

“I, uh..”

Lance had caught up with them at that point, but had remained a respectful distance away. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Just freakin’ say yes already!”

Now he was sure that he was blushing. “I’d love to. But,” He started to walk with her again. “You’ll have to ask me again when you’re sober.”

OoOoOoO

When Allura wakes up in one of the guest rooms of the Almian Castle, she knows she did something stupid. Hangovers never last long for her, and just like all the others, the drunkenness disappeared by the time she woke up. And just like all the other times, all of the regretful decisions that she had made while drunk came rushing back at her. 

“Quiznack.” She mutters as she climbs out of the nest. While comfortable, the nest of cushions and silks aren’t really her style. She prefers her own queen sized bed, thank you very much. 

Another gown is provided for her on the vanity, which doesn’t have holes for wings, as she had expected. It’s a simple but very well made dress made of a gauzy grey material. She likes it, she decides as she checks her reflection in the mirror. Someone knocks on her door, and as she turns to open it, she realises that she’ll have to face Shiro soon. 

That could go either of two ways. He could: A, ignore it. Or B, Actually wait for her to ask him. Allura has no idea if she even can ask him. It took five rangents to get her drunk enough to actually say something. 

The knocking persists. Allura sighs, and answers it. He stands there, as if she didn’t tell him that she wanted to date him the night before, as if she wasn’t just drunk out of her mind, with a gentle smile plastered on his face and a perfectly unwrinkled uniform adorning his body. “Good morning, Princess.”

“Shiro,” She begins, as the door across the hallway opens and Pidge sneaks out, carrying her shoes in her hands. She freezes when she realizes that Allura and Shiro are watching before running down the hall, presumingly to the dining hall. “What was that about?” She asks, a laugh tangled into her words. A moment later her question is answered, as Princess Aza peeks her head out of her room. 

Shiro offers her an arm and she takes it, for a moment, not thinking about what she did the night before. And then Shiro brings it up.

“I believe you have a question to ask me. But before you do, you should know the answer is yes.” 

Allura is speechless for the first time in her life. She’s never been as unprepared as she is now, and it takes all of her upbringing and her pride to choke out. “Will you court me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love the whole 'Paladins at a fancy event' theme, so you'll probably see another fic about Keith, Lance and Pidge's stories. Most likely, you'll end up reading a fic about lotance first. Blame tumblr not me.


	6. Lotance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Lotor finds something that he wants and will stop at nothing to get it.
> 
> Inspiration from:  
> http://kaxpha.tumblr.com/post/157124314218/heres-a-lotance-klance-video-ive-been-working

Prince Lotor had never wanted for anything in his life that he couldn’t have. 

So why should this be different?

Haggar stands beside him, as he studies the video feed once more. The five of them seem so small, so insignificant compared to the millions of droids at his disposal. How have they evaded their grasp for so long? Paladins or not, they are nothing compared to the might of the Galra empire. The camera angle shifts, and he watches as they approach a computer console. The Red one unlocks it with his hand, and Lotor wonders if he has Galra ancestry; he must, for his fighting style is distinctly familiar. He lets Haggar take over the battle commands, lets her send a battalion to intercept them before they complete their goal. 

He has learned from his father’s mistakes; he will not underestimate them. 

So he watches, watches how the Black one leads, the Red one fights, how the Green hacks, and the Yellow destroys. Then a new color appears on screen. Blue. At first, there is nothing that causes him to stand out. He doesn’t seem to excel in any area, or do anything notice worthy. And then Lotor sees it. 

The Blue paladin moves with a kind of fluidity that the others do not possess. He’s like water, malleable, and smooth, having a distinctness that the others do not have. Lotor doesn’t notice the other Paladins anymore. There is nothing but him, no one else matters. 

It appears that the squadron that Haggar sent was too much for them to handle. He sends them away, with Haggar’s disapproval. He’ll let them fight another day. Prince Lotor knows when to wait, and so he does. 

OoOoOoOo

Prince Lotor does not care for the opinions of his generals. He may have given his ear to the witch, but she was never a betrayer, unlike those of his army. General Harkus kneels before him, a quiet defiance in his stance, however submissive it appears. 

“My Lord, please reconsider. By focusing on the planets in the Zoraan quadrant, we’ll have enough Quintessence by the next quarter to-”

Prince Lotor silences him with the wave of a hand. “Our biggest threat right now is not a lack of Quintessence. Even if it were, Haggar is capable of dealing with that on her own. We will focus on the Paladins of Voltron. They are our priority.”

General Harkus doesn’t reply.

Haggar steps forward from her place beside the throne. “Do you understand the orders given to you by your Emperor?”

General Harkus flinches and dips his head. “Yes, my Lord. Vrepit Sa.”

Prince Lotor returns the greeting. “Vrepit Sa.”

As he leaves the throne room, Lotor alerts the guards. He’s not going to end up like his father. Any dissenters to his rule will be killed; there will be no room for rebellion. 

OoOoOoOoO

He sees the Blue Paladin again during a jail break. He is not sure why they bother with rescuing the likes of them. They are captives, kept for entertainment. Most of them are useless; they can’t fight or fly, and so most will simply die. It’s a waste of resources to storm such a secured ship, but Prince Lotor must admit, they have gotten efficient at it. 

As Haggar sends more troops their way, real Galra soldiers this time, not droids, he wonders how well he will stand up in battle. Will he be injured in the name of others? Is he really willing to die for the sake of nameless aliens marked for death?

Prince Lotor watches from his throne room as the Paladins are swarmed by Galra. The Green one is cornered quickly, but the Blue Paladin quickly disposes of him. The Black Paladin doesn’t have any trouble with the five that focus on him, nor does the Red. The Yellow Paladin provides support from a distance, while the Blue alternates between long and short distance attacks. 

It’s mesmerising how he moves between his two roles: attacker and defender. Somehow he manages to do both, as if both styles are not completely different. 

Prince Lotor is mesmerized. 

He has an idea, one that will get him what he wants, while doing justice to his father’s dream. 

OoOoOoOoO

Prince Lotor watches as the Paladins rise to the bait, storming the ship without a second thought. The holographic prisoners watch them in feigned surprise as they attempt to unlock the cages. It’s priceless how their faces change when they realise that they did not open the cages, but rather, alerted the guards to their positions. They rise from trap doors in the holes of the cells, and come at them relentlessly. 

The Blue Paladin looks frightened, and it’s a wonderful expression for him to wear. Nonetheless, he keeps fighting. They all keep fighting, even as they sustain injury after injury, they fell droid after droid. 

He watches carefully, and can pinpoint the exact moment when they lose hope. The Black Paladin does not fight as swiftly as he did before; he can barely stand upright. The small one is unmoving on the floor, struggling to keep consciousness as the Red guards, attempting to holding off two droids, even as he himself bleeds out. 

“It’s time, Haggar.” He says, standing up from his throne. Haggar doesn’t reply, but when he blinks, he is no longer in his throne room, but in the bloodied hall. The Blue Paladin is injured, but his aim doesn’t falter as Prince Lotor approaches. The remaining droids fall back to serve as a guard, and he can see the relief creeping into their stances. They grip their weapons a little less tightly, and their stances are a little less sturdy; these are the things his father taught him to look for, so that he knew when best to attack his enemy and when best to strike a deal. 

“Blue Paladin,” He calls. It’s the first time that he’s said the name aloud, and it feels wonderful. “Let’s make a deal.”

The Blue Paladin looks surprised, almost comically so. “Uh, okay.” He replies. His weapon is starting to lower. 

“Come with me and I will allow your friends to live.”

He hesitates. The Red Paladin bares his teeth, utters a growled, “No.”

“Choose me, or you shall burn.”

Prince Lotor’s Droids raise their guns, and he can feel the heat of them, standing in their center. 

He can tell the exact moment when he realizes that he’s been beat. The Blue Paladin has no choice. 

He doesn’t look back at his fellow Paladins as he places his Bayard on the ground gently, nor when he starts to cross the distance between them.

“No!”

“Lance, don’t do it!”

“Stop!”

But he doesn’t. 

When the Blue Paladin is within his reach, he grabs his wrist, and pulls him into his grasp. He sees the Red Paladin running towards him, as if to stop his retreat. It would only require the flick of a wrist to kill him. But Prince Lotor remembers honor, and lets him fall to his knees as Haggar teleports him back to his ship with his new prize. It’s more satisfying, he thinks as his feet meet familiar ground again. He runs his fingers through the Blue Paladin’s hair, marvels at the softness of it. Up close, he’s even prettier. 

No, he won’t be like his father. 

Prince Lotor always gets what he wants.


	7. Lotance: pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Paladins of Voltron regroup and take a step towards finding their missing link.

The group returns to the castle in tense silence. 

Lance has been captured, however willingly he left, and they could do nothing to prevent it. As a leader, Shiro feels as if he failed. He’s seen what the Galra can do to a person, and yet, he let Lance go. He wonders if fighting back would have accomplished anything; they were very much outnumbered, and overpowered. As a tactical move, letting Lance go was the only option that let all of them live. It doesn’t mean that he agrees with it. 

Pidge knows that her weakness is in her physical strength. Fighting was never her forte; so she focused instead on what she was good at: computers. If she had’ve tried harder in training, put in more effort like Keith did, maybe Lance wouldn’t have had to accept the deal. As Allura and Coran flittered about, setting the cryo-pods to heal their injuries, Keith paces the room, almost running into them more than once. His arm still bleeds from the gash on his shoulder, creating a trail of blood where he walks. She wonders how much he blames himself; while Lance is her best friend, he’s Keith’s everything. 

Hunk is more sore than injured really. Okay, sure, he has cuts and bruises like the best of them, but that pales in comparison to the injuries that Pidge, Keith and Shiro have sustained. They actually need the cryo-pod. Hunk is only gonna use one because he’ll be more useful not sore. He hopes that they heal fast; it could take up to a week potentially, but Lance shouldn’t have to even spend a day in Prince Lotor’s grasp. He decides not to think about what Lotor is doing to him now. He decides to not think about Lance with a robotic leg or arm of head. He decides not to think at all. 

Keith wants to hit something. Hard. He wants to break something into a million pieces, but he can’t, not here. It’s not like the thing he wants to hit is here anyways. Prince Lotor. How had they not expected Zarkon to have a successor? It was almost painful to think of how stupid they’d been. A prison ship, completely uncloaked and close to their last known location? What the hell could it be other than a trap? Keith does another lap around the room, only to almost run into the open door of Pidge’s pod.

Allura frowns. “Enough.” She rests a hand on her shoulder, in a deceptively gentle way; She could break his shoulder if she wanted to, and she knows that he knows it. “You need to heal too. Pacing isn’t going to get him back any sooner.”

Keith almost growls. “Wasting time in a damn pod isn’t gonna save him either.” He stares at his hands, scratched and marred with burns. “I couldn’t save him.”

Allura is quiet when she speaks, her tone softer. “Lance knew what he was doing. Give him some credit; he cared about you enough to willingly walk into the arms of the enemy.” She leads him to a pod. The others are already inside theirs, and seem almost peaceful, as if they are asleep and not in a medically induced coma. “Now heal up, so that you can get Lance back.”

Keith is too tired to argue anymore. His adrenaline rush is finally leaving him, and the weariness of battles lost seeps into his bones. He’s wants to stay awake, to find Lance all on his own, but Allura doesn’t even give him the chance to respond. She pushes him into the pod and closes the door. The last thing he sees before succumbing to sleep is her face, sad and unnoticing of his stare.

I’ll get you back Lance. I promise.

OoOoOoOoO

Lance’s neck burns at the touch of his collar. It’s a pretty gold thing, deceptive in its opulence. Every Time Lotor yanks at it, his neck chafes, and he’s sure it’ll start to bleed if the yanking continues. 

“Dance with me.” The Galran Prince commands, a hand outstretched in invitation.

Lance shakes his head. “No thanks. I’m good.”

He pulls on the chain, forcing Lance to stumble closer to him. “Dance with me.” He repeats, more forcefully. Lance doesn’t have a choice, so he crosses the distance between them and drops his hand into Lotor’s. The prince smiles, and Lance holds back a shudder.

Music plays from a speaker out of sight, and they dance.

OoOoOoO

Pidge is the last to heal. 

Keith paces nervously, anxiously as they wait for the last few ticks to pass by. Shiro and Allura are still talking battle tactics, and while he knows that it would be more helpful to listen in, to provide insight, he instead chooses to pace. He paces because it's better than sitting there, doing nothing while Pidge heals and Lance waits, somewhere deep in the grasp of the Galra.

“We may have found him.” Allura says, turning to face him. Her face still looks tired, with dark circles under her eyes and her eye markings a dimmer shade of blue. “But we can’t be sure unless you actually check.” She turned to the console, and pressed a few buttons causing a hologram to expand around them. Mixed in the swirl of lights were several clusters of purple, each one surrounding a darkening purple light. “Lotor knew that you’d try to get Lance back as soon as possible, so he set up several decoys, each one hosting either him or a general, with a cluster of fighter ships guarding them. There are four that he’d be likely to go to.” She points at one of the cluster’s the closest to the decoy prison ship’s location. “Here,” she turns and points to one in the opposite direction, close to a blue sun. “Here,” She moves the holo-map to the left, and points out another. “Here, and…” She scrolls to the opposite side of the map and points at the final coordinates, “Here.”

Shiro crosses his arms. “He was smart. The only way we’ll be able to search without giving away our location, is to split up. We have to attack simultaneously, so that they won’t be able to warn the others about the incoming attack.” Shiro sighed. “Which also lessens our defenses. One lion per sector, is our only choice.”

Behind them, Pidge stumbles out of her healing pod into Hunk’s arms. “Geez.” She wobbles. “That felt weird.”

Hunk helps her out of the room, presumingly to the kitchen.

Keith stops his pacing. “After Pidge eats, we can finally start looking.” The horrible heaviness he’s felt since they returned without Lance finally lifts; they can get him back soon. He’ll finally come home.

Shiro shakes his head. “Not until we have a better grasp on their defenses. The last time we rushed in their half-assed and got overwhelmed. This time, we’re each going out on our own; if we aren’t prepared, someone could end up dead.”

As much as Keith wants to ignore him, go to his lion and fly to the nearest coordinates, he knows Shiro is right. If they all rushed out their half-assed, someone else could get captured or worse, and then they’d be right back to where they started: missing a paladin. 

“I hope he’s okay out there.” Keith says, staring at the holo-map. He could be anywhere, he thinks, but Keith will find him anyways, no matter what it takes.


	8. Lotance: pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Paladins try their best to find Lance.

It’s funny, Lance thinks, how time doesn’t seem to move in space. Back on the castle, there was artificial lighting that simulated sunrise and sunset, and clocks, with both Earth and Altean time. But here in his cell, there’s nothing. No clocks, no changing lights. Just dim constantness. He’s learned to mark time, in some way at least, by when Lotor arrives to visit, and by the changing of the guards. To be fair, the room he’s kept in is by no means uncomfortable. Just boring.

Everything in the damn room is white. The floor is covered in plush rugs made of some kind of animal fur (or person fur, but Lance would prefer not to think about that), and the room has a large, fluffy bed in one corner, both of which are spotlessly white. Hell, even the food he’s been served has been white. It’s pretty bare, other than that, but definitely not as bad as it could’ve been. Lance has been bored out of his mind since he got there. The only change in his day is when Lotor visits, five times a day, if he counts correctly (if a sleep counts as a night anyways; Pidge would be better at figuring this out then he is.). He’s literally the only thing in the room that’s not white, other than Lance of course, which makes it hard to ignore Lotor when he comes in. 

So instead of resisting like he did the first few times, he lets himself stare unabashedly in the hopes of figuring him out. Why the hell did he want Lance anyways? If he wanted to use him for information, he would’ve been tortured by now, but other than that boredom, he’s been treated (mostly) alright. Not to mention, Hunk or Pidge would’ve been the better choices for information gathering. Lance was pretty sure it was something along the lines of ‘ I’ll capture the pretty one for a pet’ cliche, like in Star Wars and pretty much every other space opera out there, but he wasn’t too sure about that either. If the point was to brag that he had caught Lance, why keep him in what amounted to solitary confinement when he could parade him around the empire to all of his Galra buddies? All he ever did was come in, and force him to dance, or talk to him, or touch him. 

Lotor confused him. A lot.

Lance was pulled from his thoughts as the door slid open again. He didn’t move from the bed, where he had been hanging upside down off of for the past hour (he guessed. It could've been less or more.)

“It’s polite to stand when your superior enters the room.” Lotor says almost angrily.

Lance blinks as Lotor crosses the room in a few strides; it kinda looks like he's walking on clouds.

Lotor yanks him off of the bed in a single rough movement. Lance lands uncomfortably on his stomach. 

“Hey-” He starts to complain, only to be interrupted by another rough grab, this time forcing him upright and then to his knees.

“You will respect me. I am your superior. I am the only reason why your friends are still alive right now. We made an arrangement, and you will keep it.” Lotor hisses. His white hair curls around his face, contesting with the red marks under his eyes. He's similar to an Altean, Lance realizes. The hair, the marks. How did he not realize it earlier? But the only surviving Alteans were Allura and Coran. Except….

Which meant that Haggar had to have been his mother. 

Lance didn't have time to dwell on his realization. 

Lotor slapped him. Lance almost fell back at the force of it. His face stung from the impact, and as he raised a hand up to touch it, it came away wet. Damn. He’d forgotten that Galra had claws. Lotor grabs at his expensive collar (it's gold or something, and hurts like hell cause of how much Lotor's been yanking it.) and pulls his face close to his. 

“Blue, I don't want to hurt you.” His free hand cups the cheek that he slapped. Lance knows that spitting in his face is a bad idea. Just like pulling away or trying to run is a very bad idea. So he keeps his mouth shut and stays still. He stays very still, like a deer caught in the damn headlights. “But I will if I need to.”

He releases his grip on the chain and stands up. His demeanor changes again. His flashes a bright smile at Lance and offers his hand. “Let's go for a walk.”

Lance wants nothing more than to run past him or slap him away or yell ‘No!' at the top of his lungs, but he knows better than that. If he ever wants to escape, he’ll have to play along. So he stands, and takes Prince Lotor’s soft hand, and does nothing but smile as he walks through the ship.

OoOoOoOoO

Keith may have underestimated how intricately careful the decoy is. There are twenty ships per cluster, each one with two human life signals each, along with a stronger one from the General’s ship in the center. There are traps in every out of the way or slightly hidden area. There are cameras everywhere and guards in each room. 

For once, Keith is really glad that he didn't do the stupid impulsive thing (he hadn't really thought one out, but if he had, he would've died or been captured before even making it this far.) Thankfully, Pidge had managed to figure out a loophole on their defensive system. Their own scanners can’t tell the difference between the decoy human signal and a real human signal. By smothering their own life signals, the scanners can't pick up the signals of the Paladins when they get on the ship. The cameras were easy enough to send a loop to, or so Pidge said when she handed each of them a flash drive that would handle the coding for them (and thank god for that. Keith sucked at anything electronic, which was why he failed the computer class at the Garrison.) The only thing that Keith would have to personally deal with was the droids and the actual Galra, and Pidge had found a way to deal with the droids, at least. 

She had attached ultraviolet lights to their helmets, which prevented the droids from identifying them as an enemy. It was a great plan, Keith had to admit. 

Keith reached the next cell cluster. A droid walked past the cell, then turned the corner. He dashed across to the cell and peeked inside through the feeding slot. Nothing. Just a simple black cube that blinked irregularly. The signal amplifier.

He turned around angrily, only to run right into a droid. He froze for a moment, before realizing how guilty it made him look. He straightened up. “Watch where you’re going.” He growled, doing his best to impersonate a Galra soldier. 

“Yes sir.” The droid replied before returning to his post by the door.

Keith sighed in relief. He still had five more cells to go, which still meant that there was a chance that he would find Lance. He followed the map that Pidge had provided (without pidge this whole mission would've failed.) to the nearest unchecked cell. 

He repeated the previous process, minus the interaction with the guard. Four left to go. 

“He's not there.” An unfamiliar voice said from behind him. 

Keith spun on his heel, sinking into a defensive stance with his sword extended. The Galra walked out of the shadows. His face was familiar; maybe they had met at the Blade of Mamora. Nonetheless, he kept his guard up. 

“You did pretty good in making it this far unnoticed, but Prince Lotor,” the Galran spat the name bitterly. “Has planned for your attempt to rescue the Blue paladin. He has succeeded in splitting you up and distracting you.” He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it. Against Keith’s better judgement, he caught it. A small rectangular hard drive, he realizes as the Galran disappears the way he came. 

It’s only after he has checked the last three cells and returned to his lion that he realizes that he hadn't asked for his name. 

OoOoOoO

They are at the castle when they realized that all of them had the same experience. Nothing has been accomplished but a waste of time.

Allura doesn't believe that there will be a ransom video, showing a tortured Lance to force their hand in some unpredictable way. Coran hopes that there will be; at least that would be something concrete. They could track it without any uncertainty. 

Shiro wants to hope; but he knows the Galra too well to believe it to be true. From what Allura has told them about Prince Lotor, he is petty and spoiled, but not to be underestimated either; he had grown up to be Zarkon’s replacement. Shiro figures that Lance is still alive; Lotor wouldn't have bothered to let them go, or have gone through so much trouble otherwise. Which meant that Lotor wanted Lance specifically. 

Keith thinks he knows why. The possessive way that he grabbed for him. How he had smiled smugly when Keith had run after him. His face had mirrored Keith’s, when he had rescued Lance from Allura’s psycho father or when Lance chose him to train with. 

Prince Lotor had fallen in love with Lance.

And where would someone as powerful as Lotor bring the person that they had fallen in love with? Back to their home.


	9. Lotance: pt 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue plan changes, and Lance learns a bit more about Prince Lotor.

Attacking the center of the Galran empire is as dangerous a mission as it can get. 

Keith doubts that Shiro would have allowed the mission, if not for the flash drive (or whatever the Galran equivalent is). It contained detailed plans of guard shifts, weaknesses in the shields and blind spots in Lotor’s ship. All of it was information previously unattainable, and it helped to remind Keith that not all Galra were out to get them. 

Allura pointed at a schematic, which blew up in size as turned to face them. “There is a high chance that Lance would be kept here.” She taps her chin. “I knew that he’d be cocky, but I had no idea that he’d take Lance because of this.” She knows about Keith, he realises as she looks back at him. 

She doesn’t say anything else until Pidge speaks up. “Because of what?”

Allura steps away from the console, and pictures start to float around them in a lazy circle. Each one of Lance. Lance shooting droids. Lance injured. Lance’s lion. Lance. Lance. Lance. As the final picture approaches, Keith isn’t sure if he can take it anymore. It’s a gross perversion of privacy. The last one is the icing on the cake. Lance, sleeping on an unfamiliar white bed. Gauzy white fabric covers his skin loosely, leaving a large section of his chest visible. Most of the fabric does little to cover him modestly, and with his peaceful sleeping expression, it seems obscenely exposing.

Shiro’s voice wavers. “He’s...obsessed with him?”

“That’s what it appears as.” Allura replies quietly. 

Keith wants nothing more than to rip Lotor’s head from his shoulders. How the hell could he do this? How could they have not seen it? Suddenly it all made sense. How Lotor went after him specifically. How he held him possessively. How he had smiled smugly when Keith failed to reach him. 

“We need to get him back now. Today. This instant.” Hunk says, his voice going shrill with his anxiousness. 

Shiro places a hand on Hunk’s shoulder comfortingly. “We will.” He turns back to the group. “We have a plan of attack now, thanks to whoever gave it to Keith. But as Pidge has said, they’ll figure out what we have soon enough. Pidge and Hunk,” They meet his gaze with poorly hidden horror in their eyes. “You’ll take the Western half. There are two suites on that side that could Lance could possibly be in. Keith and I will take the Eastern half. There are three on that side. Allura, Coran, you stay back, play defense if we need it.”

Keith was slightly uncomfortable with leaving without their lions, but since their rescue required a cloaking shield, an upgraded pod was the only choice. Pidge was lucky enough to have the option on her lion. They would have the added security of a lion waiting for them. 

Shiro stepped into the pod, and slid into the driver’s seat. Keith sat down beside him. 

Shiro knew him well enough to know that there was no reason in speaking. What could be said that they both didn’t already know? Shiro had been his only friend for the majority of his childhood, and for the past few years, Keith had thought of him as his brother. They knew each other just as well as they knew themselves. 

“We’ll get him back.”

“I know.” Keith says, and he’s sure of it. Lance wouldn’t go out there and die on him, and they won’t stop looking for him. Not until he’s safe back home.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Lance isn’t sure what Lotor wants exactly. A slave? Maybe, but isn’t a slave treated harsher? A companion? He could easily buy one, or force anyone to do that for him. A prince, or rather, a king, seeing as how his father was dead, could get a concubine if he really wanted one. So why bother with capturing Lance? He was a Paladin of Voltron; not exactly the most docile of companions. It was the way that he treated Lance, that really confused him. 

Instead of ending their walk in the throne room, for Lance to be shown off to the Generals and to the soldiers of the empire, they stop in an observatory. Lance hadn’t expected a room like that to be in a warship. Why should he? It was the kind of thing that the castle would have, not something that raging warlords would have. 

Prince Lotor guides him to the center of the room, almost tenderly. If Lance could forget that he was here against his will, and had a chain around his neck, it could almost be romantic. The Galran and Altean hybrid adjusts something, and around them the universe comes alive. He rests his hand on Lance’s shoulders and points at a star. Several planets revolve around it, and at least two of them are familiar.

“The third planet.” The planet in question is zoomed in on. Lance gasps. It’s Earth, in all of it’s beauty. A ring of trash rotates around it, but that doesn’t detract from it. A few pangs of homesickness struck him as Prince Lotor continued. “It is where you are from. It isn’t worth much, and those who inhabit it are not a threat. It is far from where I rule. I have no need to conquer it.”

Lance looked up at him. There was a ‘but’ clause wasn’t there? Evil villains didn’t just offer something good for no reason. (It still applied, even if Prince Lotor wasn’t completely horrible.)

“I don’t have to destroy it. All I ask is for you to keep up your side of our arrangement.” Prince Lotor dropped his grasp on Lance’s shoulders. 

“But…” Lance began, hesitating to finish the thought. Lotor looked at him questioningly. “My friends, they need me.”

He grasped Lance’s chin gently, and turned his face so that Lance no choice but to look into Lotor’s haunting yellow eyes. “Oh my dear Blue, of course they don’t need you. But I do.”

Lance could almost believe him.

He pulled his head away and stumbled back. “The name’s Lance.”

He could’ve sworn that Lotor actually looked hurt, before he stepped forward, throwing a left hook right into Lance’s face. He hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. His head hurt. Prince Lotor growled and pulled Lance to his feet with a yank of the gold chain. Lance’s head spun, but he followed anyways. “Lotor, you know next to nothing about me. Yeah, I pilot the blue lion, but what else? Do you know what my favorite comic book is? Or the names of my brothers, or,” Lance surprises himself by saying it. He’d be lying if he said it weren’t true, or that he hadn’t thought about it while he was held captive, but it was still surprising to see how easy it was to say aloud. “That I’m falling in love with Keith?”

Prince Lotor must’ve gotten mad, Lance thinks as he primes to hit him again. Only this time, he dodges it, and swings back. His victory is short lived. Guards appear from somewhere, and swarm around him, helping Prince Lotor up, and restraining Lance from even batting an eye. Prince Lotor stands, wipes blood away from his split lip and punches him. In the face, then the chest, the shoulder, his stomach. It hurts like hell, but Lance doesn’t mind (he does honestly. He’ll be bruised for weeks afterwards if he keeps pretending to be a human punching bag, which screws up his ‘pretend to comply so you can escape later’ plan.). 

 

He smiles, just as Lotor aims a particularly nasty punch at his mouth. Lance chips a tooth, which cuts Lotor’s hand. It only serves to infuriate him further, which Lance doesn’t get the honor of seeing. The next punch makes the room spin, and then fade into darkness.


	10. Lotance: pt 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith finds Lance.

Keith and Shiro split up almost as soon as they set foot on the warship. Keith keeps to the maintenance vents, which are too warm and too small for his comfort. Shiro’s lucky. He’s too big to use them; he had to use the bowls of the ship to move around. Being closed in brings up memories of hiding in closets and crawlspaces much too easily. He pushes the memories away. They are from the past; they can stay there, never to bother him again with their stupid flashbacks and emotional baggage. No point in remembering things from a life that he’ll never return to. 

He passes by another vent. Was this one the third or fourth vent he’d passed? Dammit. He’d have to crawl backwards and start all over again. Keith had been focusing on counting so much, that he forgot to keep the vent number in mind. As he scooted back, pausing in front of the last vent for a break, he heard it. His first concrete evidence that Lance was actually alive. Throughout the past few weeks, they had had nothing to go on but hope and a single, disgusting picture of him. They weren’t even a hundred percent sure if Lance was in the war ship, but this… He pressed his ear to the bottom of the vent and laid very still.

“Is Lance healing on schedule?” A somewhat familiar voice asked. Where had Keith heard it before?

“He will be fully healed in four quintants.” Another voice replied. “He’ll have limited scarring.”

“Good. No need to ruin that pretty face of his.” The familiar voice said.

Keith’s blood ran cold. Limited scarring? What the hell had happened to give him scars, to put him in a damn cryo pod?

They moved into another room, Keith guessed, as their conversation slowly grew inaudible. He sat up and scooted back until he could almost clearly see out of the vent. The room below him had the distinct appearance of a medical bay. A gurney rested in one corner, beside what appeared to be a wheelchair. If he strained hard enough, he could make out bottles and bandages in the cupboards, contrasting with the collection of knives and other heinous looking tools laid out on the counter. 

He couldn't see anyone in the room, but since he also couldn't see a cryopod, he knew that there was a blind spot. If he waited any longer, he could lose his chance to save him. If he made a mistake, this could be the only chance that he had. 

Keith wrapped his fingers around the grate and pushed, until it separated from the vent. He pulled it into the vent with him and pushed it behind him before turning around and dropping out of the vent. Keith landed harshly on his heels, and though his shins complained, he stood up and surveyed the room. There were six cryopods lined up on the far wall. On the opposite side of the room was the door. 

Although Keith wanted to run to the cryopods and check for Lance first, he knew that blocking the door was his first priority. Grabbing the gurney, he slammed it against the door. He stabbed the rolling hinges on the top and bottom of the door with scalpels and surveyed his handiwork. It would take a lot of effort to get it open. More than enough time to get Lance and get out of here.

He ran back to the pod. It was different than the pods in the castle. He could at least somewhat recognise how to read the time and the on and off buttons, but this Galran pod was completely unfamiliar. He stared at the scrolling words across the screen. Something that reminded him of ‘stop’ flashed by, and he pressed it; guessing was the best that he could do at the moment. A few seconds of nervous waiting revealed that he had indeed chose the right button to push. Lance stumbled out, and Keith automatically reached out to steady him. Instead of a mumbled thank you, or a smile or any of the things that Keith had expected, Lance flinched, knocking him out of his already hazy balance and onto the ground.

He looked up at him in surprise. “Keith?” Keith offered him a hand, which Lance hesitantly took. “What’re you doing here?”

“Rescuing you, obviously.” The door sparked. Someone was trying to get in. “I need you to be very quiet, or else neither of us are getting out of here.”

Lance frowned jokingly. “What? You don’t think I can be quiet? I can be quiet. I’ll be way quieter than you Keith.”

Keith pulled another gurney to the vent. “Yeah? Somehow I doubt that.” He stood back and held the gurney steady. “Here. You first.”

Lance climbed on and reached for the open vent. It wasn’t a hard feat; Lance was tall, and athletic after all of the training that they had. It shouldn’t have been a problem. But as his fingers grazed the edge of the vent, he folded, clutching at his side. Keith almost didn’t catch him, but luckily was able to maneuver the gurney to catch him. The pounding on the door grew louder. He could hear voices yelling. 

“You good?” Keith breathed.

Lance nodded. “I’m still a bit sore from,” He hesitated. “Yesterday. You go first and then help me up.”

Keith wanted to protest, make him go first, but he didn’t have the time. He climbed into the vent and scooted back, pressing his feet against the walls to brace himself. He leaned out and offered a hand. 

The beating on the door was replaced with the whine of a saw. 

Lance grabbed onto his hand, and Keith pulled him up until his torso was halfway into the vent. Although he could’ve held Lance’s weight twice over from another position, he couldn’t keep from falling while holding his weight. Luckily, Lance managed to have enough leverage to pull himself fully into the vent. It was just in time too. The doors burst open just as Lance replaced the vent cover. They lay still as the Galra soldiers stormed the room. Keith couldn’t see out of the vent; Lance was in front of him, back pressed to Keith’s face. 

It was muffled, but he heard enough to get the gist of the situation.

“...escape… cryopod required help to…”

A different voice spoke up. That familiar one that he couldn't place. “...Get my prize….or else your head will be…”

At the sound of the second voice, Lance stiffened. Keith wanted to ask him why. For another time, he supposed.

The voices disappeared, but Keith waited until Lance relaxed before starting to scoot backwards. 

“Shiro,” He said, static messing up the comm signal. It was faint, but he knew that he could be heard. If the signal was any stronger, the Galra’s detection systems would be able to hear it; all of their comms were on the lowest levels. It made him uneasy.

“Keith, are you okay?” Shiro said over the static.

“I’ve got Lance with me, but they know he’s gone.” They passed by another vent. One to go. “You should head back out, cover us.”

Behind him, the vent groaned. “Quiet.” Keith hissed. If they made too much noise, it wouldn't be hard to figure out their location.

“Sorry.” Lance whispered. “My clothes keep catching onto stuff. I’m not exactly dressed for heroism, and dramatic escapes right now, Keith.”

“Circle back to the ship. I found his armor. We'll meet up there.” Shiro said, as Keith stopped at the final vent and pushed it out. It clattered to the floor as he jumped out, landing hard on his feet. His leg ached again. As Lance dropped to the floor behind him, Keith scanned the room. The janitor's closet (or the Galra equivalent, anyways) was still secure. The door was soldered shut, the soldering iron used to do it abandoned on the floor beside it. Keith face palmed, hand hitting his helmet with a loud slap. Damn it. It had seen like a good idea at the time; added security to prevent anything from going awry. But now that he was standing there staring at the damn thing, it was obvious that they’d have to find another way out. 

“Who fried the door shut?” Lance asked, tapping at the soldering lines.

“I did.”

“Great idea Keith.” Lance said, sarcasm dripping from each word. “We’ve gotta backtrack, go back through one of the other rooms we passed.”

Keith stared at Lance. He was still wearing that goddamn white outfit, or maybe one similar to the one in the picture. The fabric was torn in places and hung broken around his chest. Lance had a light mark above his eyebrow, a mark that wasn’t there when they had met last; a half healed cut, Keith realized. Lance continued to gripe about Keith’s stupidity with soldering and didn’t he know you were only supposed to solder half of the door if you wanted to open it again later?

If this had been a regular mission, if they had not been on separate sides of the universe for almost the past month, maybe then Keith would’ve just told him to shut up, to put all that effort towards actually solving the problem. But it wasn’t, and they had. So instead of yelling back, he walked up to Lance, and yanked that basically not there shirt until Lance shut up and stumbled closer. He didn’t even bother with the whole slow, romantic crap that he had planned. He just smashed his lips against Lance’s, and marveled at how freakin’ soft they were. Lance leaned into him, and parted his lips gently. He could taste Lance; like water, smooth and clear. Something refreshing that he couldn’t put a name to. 

Then Keith remembered that this wasn’t something that he had time for, that this was the wrong place, the worst actually, and then he pulled away. 

Lance laughed, a clear, nervous laugh. “You’re gonna have to try harder if you want to shut me up.”

“Trust me, I will. Later. But for now stand back, I think I have an idea.” Keith waited for Lance to step away from the door before slashing the hinges. Lance ran at it, and kicked the door in. The door leaned back, half stuck in the door frame leaving a small opening for them to escape through. 

Keith went through first, then Lance. He could almost taste Hunk’s cooking, could almost smell the familiar artificial scent of the castle air, could almost see them, sitting on that too fluffy couch in the rec room together (doing something that Keith couldn’t quite picture with), when he realized that Lance wasn't looking at him and returning his jubilant smile. Lance was frozen, gaze fixed over Keith’s shoulder. He turned, and behind him stood the person that had set this whole thing into motion: Prince Lotor.


	11. Lotance: pt 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith finds Lance. Prince Lotor fights Keith, and Lance tries to even the odds.

He had known that the Paladins would attempt to retrieve Blue- excuse him, Lance eventually. It was a trademark of the Paladins of Voltron; on of their most predictable weaknesses. But he had never expected them to succeed so quickly. Prince Lotor was never one to be unprepared, and had set up decoys to slow them down. More than one, and each one intricately designed to alert him when they attempted to intercept them. But now? How had they known to come to the center of his empire, and how had they gotten in without being noticed? There had to be a traitor amongst his ranks, but who? As Prince Lotor crossed the doorway, the two Paladins attempting to move past the twisted doorframe of the maintenance closet, he calmed himself. These questions could be answered later; right now his priority was retrieving his prize. His blue, his sky, his moon. His pretty, pretty Lance.

Unlike his father, he would achieve his dreams. And he would do it all on his own.

OoOoOoO

Lance stared at his captor. His eyes, a familiar glowing yellow, met first his, then Keith’s. 

Prince Lotor grinned. “Did you really assume that you were skilled enough to intrude upon my castle unnoticed?” Prince Lotor took a step forward, and Keith tensed beside him. Lance wished he had his Bayard, so that he could shoot the bastard’s smug smile off of his face. Then Keith wouldn't have to stand, ready to fight beside him, while Lance waited helplessly on the sidelines.

“It wasn't hard.” Keith bluffed, a mirroring smile plastered on his face. It looked fake as hell, but by the way Prince Lotor’s smile faltered, Lance could tell that he believed it. “It's not like the Galra are much of a challenge without Zarkon around.”

Prince Lotor growled, and Lance couldn’t help but think that the sound was more befitting of an angry beast, than a royal warrior. He drew a sword from the folds of his cloak. He held it in front of him and the handle lit up. A blade extended from it, dark purple with an eerie glow. It was at only a few inches longer than Keith’s sword, but whereas Keith’s was all clean lines and angles, Lotor’s was jagged and curved. The technology was probably similar to that of the Bayards, but Hunk or Pidge would have been better at confirming it than Lance was. Lance knew where all the banter was heading and stepped out of the way, back to the janitor’s closet. 

Prince Lotor charged. Keith waited in defense, and stepped to the side as Lotor tried to hit his stomach. He turned and thrusted again, only for his sword to meet Keith’s with a loud clang. Keith pushed him back, then slashed again, his blade aiming for his jugular. Prince Lotor dodged it and took a step back. 

“He’s mine, Red Paladin. You shall not have him.”

Keith gritted his teeth and aimed for Lotor’s shoulder. The Galran prince was slow to get out of the way, allowing the sword to draw blood on the far side of his arm. Lance hoped that it would slow him down, but did the opposite. Lotor pushed Keith back with a flurry of blows that Keith could barely keep up with. The Red Paladin gritted his teeth and pushed back. Their swords slid over one another, creating sparks that fell to the floor to be trampled underfoot. 

“You don’t own him, Lotor. No one does.”

Ugh. Keith sucked at one liners. Lance could’ve done better; something more dramatic like….like….something else more dramatic! He watched as Keith got the upper hand again, and their fight continued. This would probably take a while.

Lance turned away. Watching Keith and Lotor fight wasn't going to help either of them. Considering how many hidden droids had been around when Lotor took him around the ship, it was more than likely that the seemingly deserted room was surrounded by droids just waiting for Lotor’s call. Lance had to figure out how to stall them or get rid of them or something, or else Mullet-head wouldn't make it, even if he did win the fight. 

Behind Lotor and Keith was a door. The one that Lotor had come through. It was the only exit, save for the vent in the adjoining janitor’s closet. The doorway was small; only a few Galra could get through at a time. It could’ve been to their advantage, if Lance had a damn weapon. Keith couldn't hold that many at once by himself, no matter how good he thought he was.

Okay, good. So Lance had at least some sort of a plan figured out. Find a weapon. 

He slid back through the door of the janitor’s closet. His clothes caught on the twisted metal, and he yanked it, tearing through the remains of his shirt. He slid in and fell to the floor, some hand-saw looking tool cutting his shoulder as he stood up. Lance surveyed the room. What could be of use? The toolbox that Keith had raided to seal the door was still open, probably where the hand-saw thing came from. There were plenty of tools in there. And there was a broom laid prone in the corner of the room. Its metal pole was long; if he messed up, he’d have plenty to work with. It could probably work as a makeshift weapon, if he figured out how to use the tools correctly.

Behind him, swords clashed. He could hear the familiar sound of Keith’s frantic breathing; he had memorized it, unknowingly of course, during those drawn out fights in Voltron, and in late night sparring sessions. He could hear Lotor; his grunts of effort unfamiliar to his ears. Lance refused to turn around. If he did, he might notice that Keith was losing, that the boy that he considered the best with blade to blade fighting, the Lance knew was better than him, no matter how much Lance pretended he wasn't. And if he noticed that, he might just give up then, to spare Keith from having to go through all of this for him. So Lance didn't look, just in case Keith was losing, and focused on making his weapon, even when Prince Lotor screamed his name.

OoOoOoOoO

Keith was at home here, in the midst of a fight. The sounds of metal clashing and the smell of sweat were as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. So why was it so hard to keep up the upper hand? It was only one Galra (if that’s all Lotor really was. He looked too...human to be pure blooded.), and he had fought plenty one on one (nevermind the fact that it usually took two Paladins working together to actually beat ‘em.). So why couldn’t he just finish the damn fight so that he and Lance could leave?

Lance had disappeared back into the janitor’s closet a little while after they had started fighting. Although they both had noticed, Keith hadn’t been able to keep an eye on him, or contact him. Lance could be attempting to find Shiro, or lost in the vents, or just sitting there waiting for all that he knew. The lack of knowledge of Lance’s whereabouts had made both of them desperate to end it. Keith knew that he was getting sloppy. Each hit was not as precisely aimed as it had been before, each parry more and more half-assed. Keith had stamina, yeah, but it wasn’t gonna last him forever. Lotor was too distracted to regain his upper hand; They were stalemating, and Keith knew that if he didn’t defeat him soon, that he would lose. After all, Lotor had a whole army at his fingertips. Keith had a sword and a semi-injured Lance. 

Prince Lotor smiled as his sword cut through the black mesh covering his side. It was a thin cut, but Keith could feel blood seep through the remaining fabric anyways. It burned.

“Do you feel that?” Lotor sneered. “It’s going to eat at you until you are nothing. Just like the knowledge that Lance is mine, and will never be yours.”

Keith didn’t answer. Talking was a waste of breath that he would need to block any further attacks, and to initiate some of his own. Prince Lotor was obviously skilled in using the sword, and probably grew up learning how to use one. If he was going to make the mistake of talking, he obviously wasn’t scared of losing. Which confirmed that Prince Lotor had back-up nearby. 

Keith blocked another jab and stepped back, inviting Lotor to overstep in his next attack and lose his balance. Keith elbowed his back, knocking him to the ground. As Keith prepared to stab downwards, to end this fight, Lotor laughed. The door behind him opened, and he could hear the sound of marching feet entering the room. He didn’t take his eyes off of the Prince, but he knew that there were at least ten droids there, maybe more. Yup. There’s the back-up.

Lotor sat put his arms behind his head as he laid there beneath Keith’s blade. “You’ve lost.”

Behind Lotor, Lance stepped out of the janitor’s closet. His shirt was ripped, and a small line of red dripped from his shoulder onto the remains of his shirt. “And you think you’ve won?” He taunted.

Lotor tensed and tried to turn to look behind him. Keith pressed the tip of his sword onto his chest, where the heart would be on a human. It must’ve been a vulnerability point for Galrans too, as Lotor paused mid-movement. “Of course I have. The Red Paladin is surrounded, and you are weaponless. There is nowhere for you to go.”

Lance leaned against the doorframe. “True, true. I guess I should just turn myself over then, huh? No point in anyone getting themselves hurt, right?”

Keith frowned. What the hell was Lance doing? Was this some kind of ploy? If it was, it was a stupid ass one. 

“Keith,” Lance called. Keith looked up cautiously; if Lotor tried anything, he wouldn’t be able to prepare for it as easily. “Let him go.”

Beneath him, Lotor grinned. 

“Wha- What?! Why?!” Keith sputtered. 

“He won.” Lance replied.

There had to be a plan, right? They hadn’t gone through all of this shit to find Lance, only to have to give him up again. Lance wouldn’t do that. He inhaled deeply. He had to trust him. Lance wasn’t half as stupid as he acted.

Keith lifted his sword and stepped back. 

Lotor stood up gracefully, or as graceful as one could be when injured. Lance watched with feigned calmness as he crossed the distance between them. Lotor wrapped his arms around Lance in a tight embrace, but even from here, Keith could see the way Lance stiffened in his grasp. 

And then something unexpected happened. 

From behind the bent doorway, Lance grabbed a jagged spear of metal, barely bigger than his hand. In one smooth movement, he wrapped his arms around Lotor, and drove the metal deep into his back. The Galran prince cried out, and the droids behind him lifted their guns. Keith could feel the heat of them through his armor. 

Lance smiled at the droids. “I hear Prince Lotor is all you got left. Funny how unprepared you guys are to lose a leader. Seems like it’s pretty easy to get rid of them.” He pulled the spear from Lotor’s back. Thick, red blood spilled from the wound. “So I’ll make you a deal. You can have him, damaged and all. All we want is for you to drop your weapons and go to the opposite side of the room. Easy right?”

For a moment, it looked like Lance’s deal wasn’t going to work. The droids didn’t speak or move to show that they had even heard him. And then a gun clattered to the floor. Keith turned, and watched, confused as all fifteen droids dropped their weapons and walked to the opposite side of the room. Lance turned around and backed up, dragging the dead weight of the wounded prince with him until he stumbled into Keith. He dropped the Prince onto the floor and brushed off his hands. 

“Don’t go.” Prince Lotor wheezed, wrapping his hand around Lance’s ankle. “Or else I will destroy your planet. I’ll kill your friends and family without a second thought. I’ll-”

Lance kicked him, and Lotor released his grasp. “Lead the way.” Lance whispered. 

Keith grabbed his hand, and they ran, away from Prince Lotor, away from the droids and away from the nightmare that had become their lives for the past month. 

OoOoOoOoO

Keith snored. Like legit, snored. None of that cute, semi-quiet stuff, but a loud, lawn-mower like snore. It wasn’t like Lance couldn’t sleep through it. He had shared a room with three brothers for years; he could handle noise. But still, Lance couldn’t quite fall asleep. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he went back to that white room with the fluffy rug and huge bed. He honestly hadn’t thought about the purpose of the giant bed while he was there; it was only after coming back to the castle, and figuring out what exactly beds were good for, that he realised Lotor’s intent. Why else would the bed be so massively huge?And then there was the white foods. Lance couldn’t eat anything white without gagging, or even look at the healing suits without feeling sick. Even at the castle, galaxies away from him, Lance couldn’t stop being reminded about Lotor.

Lance rolled onto his side. Keith continued to snore, lost in the throes of sleep. His shirt had ridden up, revealing his newest scar. It was an unnatural purple-grey color, that stood out from his alabaster skin. Lance traced it with his finger. By all means, the Cryo-pods should’ve been able to heal it without leaving a trace; it had made Lance look brand new, except for his chipped tooth. 

“Sorry.” Lance whispered, the words broken and thick from sleep. Keith had gotten hurt because of him. It wasn’t fair that he had to carry scars because of it too. 

He remembered how Lotor had held him, had forced him into embraces and silk sheets and suddenly it was hard to breathe. Shiro had told him what this was called: a panic attack. He needed to calm down, to count to five, but he couldn’t, his mind was racing too fast and all he could do was try to drag in air as quietly as he could.

Keith sat up beside him, and slipped his hand into Lance’s. “It’s okay. Think of five things you can see, Lance. I know you can do it.”

Lance stared at him and tried to think. He could see Keith’s eyes, his hair, his pale, scarred skin. He trailed his eyes over his shirt, baggy and falling off of his shoulders. He could see the beginnings of a scar across his shoulder. That was five, right? Somewhere around that number. His breathing started to even out, and his chest started to unclench.

“Four things you can hear. Come on, Lance. You can do it.” Keith said, his voice reassuringly calm. 

His voice, his breathing, the beating of his heart. Lance could hear it all, too loud in his head. The thrum of the engines, dull and quiet beneath them.

Lance’s chest released, and he could remember how to move again. He scooted into Keith’s lap, wrapped his arms around his waist. 

He took a ragged breath. “How’d you know what to do?”

Keith hesitated to put his hands anywhere. He was never a touchy-feely kind of person, even after months of this. He settled for running his hands through Lance’s hair. “Shiro had anxiety attacks, even before Kerberos. I, um, figured out how to help him.”

Lance lifted his head and pressed a gentle kiss to his bottom lip. 

“You know, I told Lotor that I was falling in love with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Lance bit his lip. “I think I’ve landed though.”

Keith’s brow furrowed in confusion. Sometimes he was really dense. Like with the chant that he still hadn’t figured out. “I mean I’m in love with you Keith!” Lance blurted.

“Oh.” Keith blinked. “Oh!” He said again in recognition. “I, uh, return your feelings. I mean, I-”

Lance interrupted him with another kiss. He could taste the sleep in his breath, as he parted his lips gently. He pulled away. “It’s okay. I know you love me too.”


	12. Allura: The day she say Altea burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura hopes that it won't end this way. She hopes for a happy ending. Of course, things rarely happen just because you wish them so.

Diplomatic meetings were a duty that she had to endure, but that didn’t mean that she had to pay attention. While Princess Allura knew that she would one day have to represent Altea at a meeting like this, she’d prefer to daydream while her father, King Zarkon, and the othercouncil members of the Four star alliance discussed the intricacies of outer galaxy commerce.

She wasn’t the only heir forced to the table. Across from her sat Prince Lotor, his long, white hair draped across his face as he struggled to stay awake. She smiled as his head jerked forward and he woke himself up. He lifted his head inconspiciously, and wiped away sleep from his eyes. He winked, and they both went back to ignoring the proceedings. 

OoOoOoO

The next time that they meet, Allura does not daydream. 

The meeting room is tense when she and her father enter. It seems strange, in such a light and airy room, to feel as if one should watch their back. Again, they sit, her father across from Zarkon and her, across from his son. 

“This meeting has been called to discuss the actions of the Black Paladin, and of the future of Voltron.” C’ghar says. His wings tilt downwards, just like his mouth. “The first action that we would like to discuss, is that which occured on Dhalra during the fifth movement of the thrid quarter.” He pauses, a heavy blank for King Zarkon to fill in. King Zarkon says nothing, and his expression gives nothing away. “The Black lion left the scene of battle, abandoning the other four lions, to destroy the Kwani colony on the moon, which was a civilian base comprised of women, children and men who were unarmed. This action left Red Paladin Jahwer of Rancoult unprotected, wich resulted in his hospitalization. Do you have anything to add?” C’gahr lifts his gaze from his papers.

Her father watches with a grim expression, as Zarkon speaks. “It won the battle, did it not? And that is all that matters.”

Allura knows that one day, she too will pilot a lion. Ever since they were built, it had been the intention for the Alliance rulers to pilot, and as King Alfor grows older, her ascension grows closer. It does not surprise her that he disagrees with Zarkon’s methods. Although they had been friends since childhood, he had always regarded Galran methods as brutal; She had been taught to be careful of them since she had known of their race. What does surprise her is that her father speaks up, out of turn. 

“You killed Children, Zarkon. If you will not admit your wrongdoing, will you at least atone for them?” There is a quiet hush that takes over the room at King Alfor’s words. No one has dared to strip a title in this room before, and if his accusatory words were not enough, his tone adds more insult. 

Prince Lotor’s eyes are not glued to her father, as the rest of the councilmen are, but onto her. With the knowledge that she has an audience, she closes her mouth, slighty open in surprise, and molds her expression into one that expresses nothing.

King Zarkon stands. “I do not recall you stopping me when I did the same for Altea, Alfor.” He turns, his predator like gaze locked onto Emperor Mwanhay. “Nor did you, Mwanhay. In fact, not a single Paladin complained against my methods when I used them in defense of their planet, but against a hostile invader on one of my realm, you choose to take offense.”

“Perhaps so,” King Alfor begins.

Zarkon cuts him off. “If you shall complain against my methods as the leader of Voltron, then perhaps you should not be a part of this alliance.”

If the room cold get any more tense, it does. There is silence amoungst the five councilmen. A conclusion is reached. “No one suggested that, King Zarkon.” Emperor Mwanhay finally breaks the silence. His usage of Zarkon’s title seems to emphasize how no one else has been using it. “We concede to your judgement, as you are the head of Voltron, but we would appreciate it if you soften your methods.”

King Zarkon does not reply. He stands, and leaves without a word, his son trailing after him. 

OoOoOoO

The first act of war was denied at the begining. 

Emperor Mwanhay was so afraid of war, that he allowed King Zarcon to take the first planet in his realm without a fight. Zarcon ravaged the planet anyways. 

And then he did it again.

He father calls her to the bridge of the castle, and when she arrives, she has no words to respond with. Rather than a view of Alexandrai, the neutral planet where races from all planets of the alliance meet, she sees an unfamiliar dead, rock. Where the planet was once covered in purple Klafgha, so bountiful that it was visible in orbit, the planet is brown. 

“He did this.” Her father says. His eyes don’t leave the screen as pictures ghost past him. Animals dying on the side of the road. Plants, dead and wilted. People, dried and dead, like focroshes left out in the sun. “And no one even tried to stop him.”

Allura doesn’t even realize that she’s crying until her father hugs her and wipes the tears from her eyes. “I-I never thought that he could do something like this. He-he never seem-” She hiccups, and stops talking. Her father brushes her hair.

“I thought that we could trust Zarkon, too. I thought...but it’s too late.” 

And Allura cries for the dead, and the planet that is no more.

OoOoOoO

Even before the meeting is over, Allura knows how it will end. 

The Black lion is missing, and they all know who has it. The only person who could ever get close enough to it to take it is King Alfor. So they call a meeting, and Allura can’t help but think that it’s too small. The number of people at the table has shrunk from seven to four, amoungst them one person whom she notices the most: Prince Lotor.

He is gone. He’s been missing since it all began, and Allura can’t help but worry for him. They had been betrothed since before they were concieved; a political marriage. Allura had grown to like him, not as a suitor just yet, but as a fellow heir, forced into a role that niether of them chose. There were others too; Kings, Emperors, the heads of the alliance were disappearing one by one. With each disappearance, a planet goes silent, and another Lion disappears.

Allura knows where they go. Not exactly of course, but she’s aware that each Paladin is sending their lions away, deep into space away from their conflict. But the Black lion is with them. Her father had taken it, and although she’s not sure how, has been able to pilot it. He had managed to lock it, until the other Paladins could retrieve it themselves. The only way for Zarkon to get his lion back is to destroy the castle, and even then, it wouldn’t allow him in. 

The war will be over soon, she thinks. Zarkon can’t possibly go against Altea. Alfor and Zarkon had grown up together, almost like brothers. She has known the Galran King for her whole life. 

She doesn’t go to the meeting. Her father forbids it, tells her to stay in the castle in case things go awry. She’s not the type to sit and watch; she’s been training to be a Paladin one day, and she’s begun to feel more at home on the battlefield than in her castle, safe and waiting. It doesn’t scare her, but Allura knows it firghtens her father. So she watches the meeting, from her castle until the feed is broken, and then she waits again.

Suddenly the doors open. 

“Launch the castle.” Her father runs into the bridge, his armor still smoldering from whatever had shot at him. “Now!”

Coran pulls out from the Cryo-pod, still half broken, and rushes to the console. The ship launches before she’s even had a chance to speak. 

“But why? I thought you were working on a treaty.” Her father doesn’t stop moving from window to console. He hands grip and ungrip nervously, and his eyes flutter but do not settle. He doesn’t even show that he had heard. Allura hasn’t seen him like this since the fall of Senersia, when her mother had been left behind. “Father!”

He looks up, and she realises how much of a toll all of this has taken on him. He looks old. Older, than he should look. He has bags under his eyes, and his marks are starting to fade under his eyes, starting to blend with the brown of his skin. 

“Look outside.”

“What?” Allura manages to choke out in surprise.

“Look!” He yells, pushing her towards the window. 

She stumbles forward, her feet catching over themselves. She steadies herself by pressing against the window, but what she sees makes her stumble again, backwards as if she can escape from the site. Fire, red and hungry consumes her home. Zarkon hadn’t even bothered to harvest it. He had burned it. Her people-gone. Just like everything else in the past year. Prince Lotor, the council, everybody who had crossed path with Voltron. 

She wants to look away, but knows that she can’t. If she doesn’t look, if she doesn’t watch her people die, then everything her father has done is in vain, and they will have accomplished nothing. 

So Princess Allura watches Altea burn.


	13. Lotance: In which Lotor is not an ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After retrieving Prince Lotor from Cryo-sleep, he becomes an ally to the Paladins, and becomes close friends with one in particular.

He wakes from the Cryo-pod with the taste of his last lover on his lips. Prince Lotor could not remember his name, only a single color: Blue, like water, and like the sky.   
He stumbles into the arms of an unfamiliar stranger, their skin not a familiar shade of purple, but a warm brown. The smoothness of their skin confuses him; the only people who knew of with skin that color and texture were the Alteans, but his father had declared war on them years ago; there was no way that one of them would retrieve him from his cryo-pod, unless they meant to kill him. Prince Lotor steadies himself, and lookes up into the stranger’s face.  
“Um, hi. Hello.” The stranger says. Lotor studies his face until he's sure that he lacks the pointed ears and facial markings that all Alteans share. Good. Then he wasn’t here to assassinate him. It's then that it occurs to him that his was the first voice that he’d heard in- wait. How long had he been in cryo-sleep? “The name’s Lance. I rescued you, and now we need to go.”  
Prince Lotor barely hears him. He pulls away from Lance’s arms and turns back to the Cryo-pod. The display is cracked, barely readable except for a single row of numbers: 10,000. He backs away from the pod, as if he can escape the numbers. He trips over the boy that saved him, falls right back into his arms, but he doesn’t care.  
Everything that he has known is gone. Everyone he has ever loved is dead. And he’s been asleep all the while.  
OoOoOoO  
Lance cracks jokes on the way back to the castle, not because he think’s that Prince Lotor will appreciate them, but because he has no idea what else to say.  
“Y’know, there was a-” Lance begins to tell another half-hearted joke.  
Prince Lotor cuts him off. “I appreciate what you’re doing, Lance. But I’ve just learned that I’ve been asleep for the past ten thousand years, while my father enslaved the majority of the universe. I’m not exactly in the mood for humor.”  
Lance nods. He gets how Lotor feels; although his homesickness will never be as devastating as Allura’s or Lotor’s, he knows it well.  
“That’s cool.” Lance wonders how much he remembers of the time before the war. Allura had barely told them anything, and while he never pushed it, he was curious. “What do you remember, before the pod?”  
He nears the castle, and the gates open for Blue. Prince Lotor’s eyes go wide at the sight. “I remember my father promising to burn Altea, and...someone important, leaving me.”  
He wonders who the ‘someone’ was, but Lance knows by his tone that it’s best to leave it. He still has to meet the others, who’ll have way more questions for him; there’s no need for him to be questioned twice. And wait- burn Altea? How the hell do you burn a planet? He must’ve said it aloud, because Lotor quickly answers.  
“You’ve seen what my mo-” He cuts himself off. “What Haggar can do with enough quintessance available. It’s not easy, but it’s not impossible either.”  
Lance nods, and pretends as if he understands. He lands Blue gently in the hangar and they leave Blue in an uneasy silence. Lotor walks through the castle with purpose, as if he knows it well. He probably does, Lance amends. Allura had said that Prince Lotor had been her friend before the war. She had also said other things, things that Lance hadn’t exactly listened to but now he kinda wished that he had. Maybe something that she had said explained why he looked more human than Galra.  
The only similarities that Lotor have with his father are his skin, his ears and his glowing eyes. Long white hair, pleasantly humanish features; these aren’t traits that Lance has seen on any other species except for Alteans and Earthlings. He wonders if his mother was Altean.  
As Prince Lotor and Allura meet again, both of their faces light up with a weary kind of joy, Lance can't help but wonder if Lotor will like him. Even though he's a stranger, there's something about him that makes Lance want to be liked by him.  
OoOoOoO  
Prince Lotor stares wide eyed, as Allura shows picture after picture of the various planets that his father has destroyed. His hands shake, but he says nothing until the last picture is replaced by black.  
“He never said-” He begins, his voice unsteady. He takes a deep breath, straightens up. A Prince should not show weakness, he thinks as he begins again. “My impression was that we were to prevent war, not cause it.”  
“We thought the same.” Allura replies, her face grim. “That’s why we weren’t prepared.” She places a hand on his shoulder, and Prince Lotor can’t help but think of those times before the war, when they snuck out of general meetings together, or hid in the corners of ceremonial events, out of the gaze of their overbearing, but well-meaning parents. They had been close back then; though they had been raised as betrothed, they had been as close as brother and sister. At least, they had been until the months leading up to the war.  
“I suppose there is an upside.” Prince Lotor says, a wry smile overtaking his blank expression. “We won’t have to get married after all.”  
Although Allura’s laughter is more than worth it, the confused and surprised expressions of the Paladins make the joke so much sweeter. One paladin in particular, the blue one, catches his eye. The way he laughs, it’s familiar, in the same way that the halls of the castle were; enough to ghost his way around, but not enough for him to ever recognise where he was.  
The moment was over as soon as it came, and Allura returns to the task of teaching him what atrocities his father had done.

OoOoOoO

“For the ‘Defenders of the Universe’, you are quite bad at defending.” Prince Lotor says, humor leaking into his tone. He lowers his sword, and pretends to lean on it as Keith catches his breath. 

Lance laughs. “Guess someone can beat Mullet hand-to-hand.” Both he and Hunk are not melee fighters, but they both have to admit that watching Keith and Shiro take on Lotor is interesting. Keith glares at Lance, and straightens up, sliding into another defensive stance.

“I can win, I just-” Each word is punctuated with a deep, heaving breath. Lance wonders if Prince Lotor will accept his challenge, and beat Keith again. For someone trained in sword fighting, defeating Keith, a novice, is as simple as breathing; if he were to fight him, only to ‘lose’, they would all know it, and it would only embarrass Keith more. But on the other hand, it would prove to his audience that the trouble they took to find him was worth it.

Lance has to admit, it surprises him when Prince Lotor shakes his head. 

“You can try again tomorrow.” He says dismissively.

Keith gapes at his blatant dismissal, and all of the fight leaves him in a single, deep exhale. “What?”

“You can try again tomorrow.” Lotor repeats, sheathing his sword and returning it to the rack near the door. He leaves without a second glance as they stare after him, a faint smile gracing his mouth.

OoOoOoOoO

“Tell me of Earth.” Lotor says, not quite able to remove the order from his tone. Thoughts of his home are still on his mind, and he sees them in a blue hue. Blue, blue, blue. That color keeps coming back to him. He wonders if that's why he's drawn to Lance; he personifies the color so well.

Lance looks up from his food. Grey noodles slither off of his fork and back onto his plate as he slurps those hanging out of his mouth. “You want to know about home?” He clears his throat. “My home, I mean.”

Lotor nods. “I'll probably never see mine again. I'd like to hear about yours.”

Lance drops his fork onto his plate. Sauce splatters onto his shirt, and he dabs it absently with a napkin. “Earth is...it's…” He looks up from his shirt and meets Lotor's gaze. “I have a big family there. Four sisters, two brothers. Micheal and Marina are gonna go into the Garrison soon, and Sean’s getting married soon. Or I guess he already has.”

“What's it look like?”

“It's mostly green. Most of the plants there are green. Where I live, there’s this forest- it's got a lot of these really tall plants called trees, right outside my house. I used to walk out there to do homework, and I'd get lost every time.” Lance smiles as he talks, and although Lotor has no idea what ‘homework' is, he enjoys watching him look so animated. “What about you? What do you miss about home?”

Lotor isn’t exactly sure what to say. He misses the Ranshin flowers that used to bloom every fourth quadrant, and his room in the castle. He misses his view of the capital from his window, especially at night when it’s all lit up. But mostly he misses his lover, whoever he was. Prince Lotor still can’t figure out who he was, but he thinks that he could’ve been the previous Blue paladin. He notices that Lance is still looking at him expectantly, and realizes that he still hadn’t answered him. “I miss the flowers.” He manages, pushing his plate away from him. “Thank you.” He says, meeting Lance’s gaze. His eyes are a brilliant blue, similar to the color of a quwati swimmer’s scales. Lotor imagines that he could get lost in them, if he allowed himself. 

“For what?”

“For sharing a bit of your home with me.” Lotor stands, returns the plate to its cabinet where it will be cleaned and stored. “I can’t imagine that it’s easy living with someone with the same face as your enemy.”

Lance shrugs. “Meh. Keith’s half-Galra too. I’ve learned not to judge by appearances.”

“Still, I appreciate it.” He brushes his hair away from his face. “You. I appreciate you, I mean.”

Lance looks so surprised, it’s almost comical. “Um...thanks.”

They return to their comfortable silence.

OoOoOoOoO

Lance isn’t sure what it is about him that makes Lance wants to hang out with him. By all means, he should be avoiding him cordially, just like Keith and Pidge are. It’s just, there’s something about him that makes him alluring, like a moth drawn to a flame. Although he can’t deny that Lotor is definitely his type, he knows it’s not just his looks. Hell, if looks were the only criteria, he would’ve asked Keith out a while ago. He’d like to say that it’s his personality, but to be honest, Lotor’s an enigma.

He’s nothing like a Galra should be. Kind enough to not humiliate Keith in front of his friends, sensitive enough to still feel homesick, compassionate enough to care about the planets that his father has destroyed, and humble enough to feel shame for it. And yet, he corrects them every time someone drops his title of ‘Prince’, and isn’t afraid to show where he excels. He’s a strange mix of an entitled rich boy, and a hurt teen. He’s hard to define, Lance thinks as he passes into the kitchen.

It’s become their ‘thing’ to wander into the kitchen at the same time every night, long after the others have fallen asleep. While Lance had at first come for the solitude, he found that he enjoyed Lotor’s company just as much. He didn’t put as much of a strain on him as Keith did, and while hanging out with Pidge or Hunk was fine, even they got tired of him eventually. 

“Hey.” Lance yawns as he slides into his seat. Lotor is already sitting beside him, two steaming mugs set before them. 

Prince Lotor takes a sip of his drink, and brushes away his hair as it falls into his face. “You should be sleeping.”

Lance tries a sip of the drink. It’s bitter and strong, like really bad beer. He swallows it without making a face, and is incredibly proud of doing so.“Probably.”

“You’ll regret this tomorrow.”  


“Yup.”

Prince Lotor sighs. “And I’ll regret letting you stay up this late when you start complaining tomorrow morning.”

Lance laughs and leans back in his chair, putting his feet up on the table. “You’ll live.”

Prince Lotor slipped his hand into Lance’s as he took another sip. “You don’t like the drink, do you?” 

Maybe it’s like beer; you have to have more than one sip to get used to it. Lance tries another sip. Nope. Definitely doesn’t taste any better. “It’s great.”

“Really?” Lotor rubs his thumb over the back of Lance’s hand. His fur is so soft, for a moment Lance forgets his answer.

“No.” Lance says with a laugh. “It’s terrible, but I’m still gonna drink it.”

For a moment, Lance thinks that he knows what it is that makes Lotor’s company so appealing; he makes him feel wanted, as if he could sit there and listen to him talk all night, without complaint. And that is exactly what he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this isn't my best work, but I really wanted to keep my trend of a chapter a day. I couldn't really tell what was wrong with this, but if you can find it, I'd appreciate you telling me my mistakes. Thanks for the support and for the comments. Hopefully I can continue to post at this rate, but I'm running out of ideas. If you have any prompts you want written, tell me and I'll write 'em. Thanks.


	14. Pidgance: Vampire Hunter AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hand to hand combats was never one of her strong points.

DIplomacy was never one of her strong points. 

As much as Pidge loved her brother, they fought just as much as normal siblings did. Usually it ended because of their parents insistence, and then continued to simmer below their radar for weeks with quiet pranks and barbs. Although they rarely fought, when they did, it took forever to be over. She sucked at figuring out how to end their spats with both of them satisfied. She supposed it didn’t really matter, since she wasn’t doing the talking here, but still. 

Lance fidgeted in his seat, as the Crysidians brought up another clause of the treaty that they wished signed, if Voltron were to become allies with them. It had been like that for the past three hours; going over each individual clause, then waiting for Allura or Shiro to agree to it, before having to agree themselves. If they didn’t require all of the Paladins to accept the treaty before it went into effect, Pidge would’ve been hanging out in their labs; they had passed them on the way in, and Pidge had to be dragged away from the showcase of transforming nanobots and organic computers. Not that the computers would’ve been compatible with humans. The Crysidians were more reptilian than she’d expected. They required constant heat, which meant that they had to wear these cool temperature suits that moderated air temperature close to their skin, as well as air with a certain amount of humidity to survive.

“Do you accept these clauses?” Their host, G’ner, asked. His voice was so monotone that Pidge barely recognized that he had spoken. She opened her mouth to utter another confirmation.

“No!” Shiro stood abruptly, his chair screeching as it slid across the floor. 

Pidge snapped to attention. Beside her, Keith’s hand grasped his weapon, and Lance straightened up. 

G’ner stood, his suit hissing as he met Shiro’s angry gaze. “You do not wish to comply with facet four, section five of the treaty?”

“No.” Shiro repeated, his voice quieter but no less tense. “We are not going to surrender one of the lions. You delete that clause, or there will be no alliance.”

G’ner frowned. From the ornate double doors behind him, five more of the Crysidians walked in. They were bulkier than G’ner was, and where he was covered in small, dusty green scales, their scales looked almost crystalline in nature. It made sense, the thicker scales for the warriors. Of course, that would also make them harder to defeat if this became a fight. 

“Facet Four Section Five of the treaty shall be put into effect. Whether or not you agree to it is irrelevant.” He stepped back as the five warriors stepped forward, a gun aimed at each Paladin’s head. “Do you agree-”

G’ner didn’t have a chance to respond, as Lance fired, knocking him to the ground. There was a loud crack as his ventilator cracked, and then the ensuing gasping and wheezing was hidden by the sounds of gunfire. Lance laid cover fire, as Hunk shot at their weapons. They managed to break two before they put up some kind of shield around their weapons, similar to the ones that they castle had, allowing them to shoot, but not take damage. Hunk fired a few more times, then stopped, when he realised that it didn’t have any effect.

Lance maintained his fire, which didn’t seem to do much, as Shiro and Keith took the gunless Crysidians hand to hand, leaving Pidge, Lance and Hunk with the remaining three. While Lance and Hunk focused on their opponents from afar, Pidge took on her’s in hand to hand combat. 

Close quarters combat was never one of her strong points.

Pidge charged at the Crysidian soldier, her Bayard crackling with electricity. She ran at him, veering to the left just before she crashed into him. Her bayard hit his skin instead of the ventilation suit with a quiet clink.He turned, and grabbed her leg as she tried to change direction. He raised her in the air for one breathless moment before smashing her onto the ground. Her breath left her forcefully, and she laid there gasping. For a moment, she couldn’t even think. Her head spun, and then she was lifted up again by the same leg.

She could hear someone shouting her name.

And then Pidge remembered that it was her Bayard that she was clutching with a death grip, and wasn't she passing by the main voltage box as he lifted her above him. Her arm felt as heavy as a concrete block as she swung it towards the ventilator on his back, just as he swung her back down. As she fell, two things happened at once: She heard a loud crack, almost simultaneous with her fall. The crack could've come from two things: One being the soldier's ventilation suit as it splintered and fell apart and the other being her leg. And then she felt the worst pain that she had ever felt in her entire life. It was worse than when she broke her arm in the third grade, or that time she electrocuted herself when she was working on upgrading her computer. 

Her head spun even worse than before. She couldn't tell who the person standing over her was at l, and then they placed a cold hand on her arm.

“Shit.” Keith muttered, moving closer to her leg. “Her leg’s broken.” He called, turning to Shiro. 

Shiro’s face blurred with his armor. A mix of monochromatic colors, she thought, kinda like smoke. She laughed. “We need to get her back to the Castle. Now.” He said, his voice heavy with worry.

“Uh, guys?” Hunk sounded nervous. What was there to be nervous about? They got the bad guys, right? “Nope. Not all of them. There's at least four more headed this way, and- Oh, god. We need to get her back to the castle.”

Shiro stands, the action making her vision swim again. She closes her eyes. “Hunk, you take her back, the rest of us will…” His words slowly fade out, like a song ending too soon.

Accepting her weaknesses was never one of her strong points. 

Keith watches her warily as the training droid is replaced with a larger one. It stands at least two feet taller than her (it’s only a foot feet taller than Shiro, so her estimate is probably off.) She lowers herself into a defensive stance, like Keith had shown her. The alarm chimes, and the match begins. 

Pidgedoesn’t charge it head on, like her instincts tell her to. Instead, she waits for the droid to come to her. By waiting, she realizes how easy it is to tell it’s intent. She easily avoids its first punch, dashing past him and out of his reach. She manages to hit it once in the back before it turns, swinging it’s arm into her stomach. She falls to the ground, rolling back to her feet. 

Pidge waits for the droid to attack again, then uses her grappling hook to jump onto it’s blind spot: its head. It only takes her a moment to electrocute it, and then its falling, broken and out of commission. She jumps off of it before it hits the ground. “How was that?”

Keith looks up from his stopwatch. “Three seconds less than last time.”

Pidge sighs and slides into a defensive stance once more. “Send out another one. I can beat it.”

Keith shakes his head. “No way. You’ve already gone through six, and you’ve lowered your time down by three minutes. You need to eat, and come back to this tomorrow.”

Pidge knows that even her best score isn’t half as good as Shiro’s or more realisticly, Lance’s. If she doesn’t get better at stuff like this, then how is she ever gonna be able to hold her own in battle? “I can do another one. I just want to shave off ten more seconds. I know I can do it.” She pleads.

The door opens behind them, and out of reflex, they both turn. Shiro walks past Keith to Pidge and rests his hand on her shoulder. Oh no. He’s in Spacedad mode now. Keith probably could tell too, because he leaves almost as soon as Shiro walks in. 

“You did really good, Pidge. Your melee skills are getting much better.” He compliments.

Sure, Pidge thinks, they’re better, but no where close to what they should be. While the others focused on physical training, she had focused on learning how to use the alien tech of both the Galra and Altean systems. Now she regrets it; if she had’ve known how to defend herself better, she wouldn’t have been hurt so badly during the last mission. 

It seems as if Shiro can tell what she’s thinking, she realizes as he speaks again. “I mean it, Pidge. You’ve progressed through four levels in less than a week. That’s amazing.”

“But it’s not good enough,” Pidge cries, knocking his hand off of her shoulder. “I’m way behind the rest of you. I don’t want to be dead weight on missions because I’m only good at computer stuff, so I have to try harder than this.”

Shiro is quiet for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Matt wasn’t dead weight.”

Whatever Pidge was expecting, it wasn’t this. “What?”

“He was only good with computers, and geology. He couldn’t help with the heavy lifting. He was never a good fighter, but he was never dead weight.” Shiro gauges her expression, checking that mentioning her brother didn’t bother her. “He was the one who figured out how to hack the feeding module in our holding cell to get us extra provisions. He even helped me figure out how to activate my arm. Katie, I promise, you’ll never be dead weight, never to us.”

Pidge’s arm suddenly feels sore, and her grip on her Bayard is suddenly too tight. It’s as if the past six hours of training are catching up with her all at once. Her legs waver beneath her. And Shirp moves to catch her in case she falls. “I guess I just… I knew that physical strength was one of my weaknesses. I wanted to fix it.”

“And you can.” Shiro replies, scooping her up like a tired puppy. “After you get some sleep,”

Pidge is too tired to argue, and so she doesn’t. She doesn’t even bother to say anything else to Shiro, like thank you, or love you too. There’s no point; he already knows.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge is a vampire hunter, and she prefers to work alone. And then one night, she meets Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on how well this is recieved, I might add another chapter or two to the story. So if you like this, tell me.

Pidge works alone. 

Not just because she too prideful to look for help, but because she works better with no one holding her back. Her head spins as someone walks into the room, and for once, she wishes she had a partner. Maybe then she could’ve taken down the pair; while she had been prepared for the two vampires that she’d tracked down, she hadn’t expected a third. She’d still managed to kill two of them, but the third had captured her before she could retaliate.

She tries to turn, but the movement, combined with hanging upside down, has her feeling like she’s gonna throw up. It’s not helpful to her stomach that the basement smells like rot, but even through that, she can smell him. Vampire. The person stops in front of her, and all that she can see are his long legs. 

He fiddles with the ropes that tie her up, and she falls to the ground, barely able to prevent herself from landing on her head. The stranger squats down to untie her hands, leaving him open to an attack. She rolls onto her knees and barrels into him, knocking him into the ground. She pulls a stake from her sleeve and holds it between her binded palms; it’s too thin and weak to do much real damage, but the stranger doesn’t see to notice. He freezes, blue eyes wide in surprise.

Wait, blue eyes?

“Who are you?” Pidge growls. While vampires only have red eyes, he still smells like one of them, and she knows better than to trust her sight over her sense of smell.

“The name’s Lance. I’m a bona fide bloodsucker hunter, just like you.” Pidge doesn’t remove the stake from over his heart. He sighs. “I can prove it.”The boy- she says boy because it’s obvious that he’s young, not much older than her- slowly brings his hand to his neck, pulling a chain out from beneath his shirt. He dangles the charm in front of her for a moment before dropping it back into his shirt. She knows the symbol well enough; it’s the sign of a Garrison hunter. Her father and brother wore the same symbol, and now she does too. 

She slides off of his chest, and drops the stake. “Sorry.”

The boy sits up and brushes off his shirt. She can see it clearly now that he’s human. His brown skin is too lively for a member of the undead, and his stench clearly comes from the black blood spotting his blue t-shirt. “Don’t worry about it. I’d be all defensive too, if I got myself captured by a coven like that.” He kneels beside her again and cuts through the rope binding her wrists.

Something crashes upstairs, and they both look back to the stairway. The door is still closed. 

Pidge rubs her rope-burned wrists and stands, quickly surveying the room for her bag. The vamp that had knocked her out had taken all of the stakes she carried off of her, as well as her Garrison signia. She wouldn’t have minded leaving all of that behind, if she hadn’t also been carrying that picture. 

Lance offers her a stake. “We should probably take care of the last two upstairs.”

Pidge takes it from him, and slides it onto her belt. “We can go in a sec. I need to find my bag first.”

Lance opens his mouth to reply, just as the door slams open. Two pale figures dash down the stairs, headed directly for them. Pidge pulls the stake from her belt again, the rough feel of the hawthorn as familiar to her as her own skin. The two bloodsuckers veer slightly past Lance, and she realizes that they mean to take out the least threatening adversary first. She grins; they’re in for a huge disappointment. 

She kicks the first one away, as the second tries to grab her hair. She ducks, and delivers a hard uppercut before jabbing the stake into it. She misses slightly; it lands in his shoulder, not his heart. The vampire screams as she pulls it out, and jabs it in again, this time hitting her target. The vampire freezes as time catches up with it, it’s body petrifying before dissolving into dust.

Pidge stands up, and brushes herself off. 

Beside her, Lance is finishing off his own opponent. His vamp is bigger than hers was, at least six feet tall. He has at least fifty pounds on Lance, but he manages to keep the upper hand anyway. He stabs downward, his stake cracking as it enters the bloodsuckers heart. The vamp dies, and the broken stake falls into a pile of ash.

Pidge leaves him to his own devices, as she collects a sample of the ashes. She stows the small vial in her pocket, and then stands up, ready to leave.

Lance watches her curiously as she searched the room for her bag. “Is there a reason why you're keeping a sample?”

Pidge shakes her head. She opens a cabinet by the far wall and steps back as the smell of rotting meat hits her. “I just like keeping samples. Some people collect stakes; I collect dust.”

She almost closes it, when she realises that her bag is sitting on top of the carcass, deep in the corner. 

“Well, I’ve still got two more covens to hit, if you wanna come with.”

Pidge grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder. The bottom is slightly damp with blood and she tries not to wrinkle her nose at the thought. “I’m good on my own.” She replies, trying to keep her tone cordial. Technically, she’s not supposed to be out there on her own, not at her level and definitely not without the approval of a Garrison official. She doubts that Lance is supposed to be out here either, so she doesn’t fear refusing him. 

Lance shakes his head. “You just got taken down by a surprise bloodsucker. I can get it if you like working alone, like Keith,” He mutters the name in a tone of pure disgust. Pidge finds the name familiar. Wasn’t he that hunter who got expelled earlier that year? “But I’d feel bad if I let you go and you ended up being hunted one day because of me.”

Pidge attempts to walk past him, but his long legs give him an advantage: speed. He blocks every attempt to walk past him, until she’s so frustrated, she gives in. “Fine. But I’ve got my own list to hit, and you’d better keep up.”

He smiles. “No problem, uh…” he pauses and frowns. “Actually, you never told me you name.”

“Pidge,” She replies, with a small smile of her own. “My name’s Pidge.”

OoOoOoOoO

They finish up the next two houses without any problems. There’s never any more than three vamps, and with their combined power, they pose no threat at all. Pidge has to admit, Lance’s easy banter and upbeat personality makes the night go by much faster. Pidge has even started joking along with him.

“..and that’s why me and Hunk aren’t allowed there anymore.”

Pidge can barely breathe through her laughter. “What the hell made you think it was okay to use a stake as a fork?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time!” Lance protests as they stop in front of an upbeat storefront. 

The pink decor and pastel florescent lights are a stark difference to their last two locations. She doubts that even a roach could be found inside. Lance walks up and peers inside.

“You sure a vamp would crash at a place like this?” He asks, doubt audible in his tone.

Pidge glance down at her tracker. “All of the signs have led to here, and my tracker’s never been wrong.”

Lance shrugs. “Okay then. We should probably check the back of the building though. I doubt the bloodsucker is chillin’ in the front of the store.”

Pidge follows Lance to the back of the store. There’s only one door, a giant rolling one meant for truck deliveries. The ledge is way too high for her to reach, she realizes as Lance jumps to grab the ledge. He leans back over, offering a hand. “Now you can finally see my true use: helper for the vertically challenged.”

Pidge pouts. “I’m not that much shorter than you.”

Lance snorts as he pulls her up. “Right. And I’m not cuban.” He overestimates her weight, and pulls her too hard, causing her to land in his lap. She quickly scurries off, as if he was not a fellow hunter, but a hand grenade, ready to explode at any time.

“Sorry.” She mutters.

“No biggie.” He replies, turning away to open the door. Was it just the lighting, or did his brown skin seem a little flushed? She doesn’t have time to question it, as he pulls the door up and steps inside. 

She follows after him, letting him lead the way through the dark as she rummages through her bag for a flashlight. She doesn’t even see him when he stops, not until she runs into him. She stumbles back. “Why’d you stop?”

“Quiet.” He hisses, turning back to her with a look of fear in his eyes. 

She finally gets her flashlight out and turns it on. 

In front of them is not the two bloodsuckers that she had accounted for, but seven. Each one is half asleep, in that strange semi-conscious trance that bloodsuckers attain during the day. Their pale skin looks almost translucent with the light shining on them. One of them flutters their eyes.

Lance grabs her flashlight and shuts it off. He turns around slowly and wraps his arms around her. Her face is smashed into his chest, and out of instinct, she starts to struggle.

“Shh.” He hushes. “They can’t smell me, but they will notice you if you don’t keep still.”

Pidge forces herself to stay still as something thuds behind him. She can barely hear the footsteps, they’re so quiet, but the fact that she hears them at all proves that it has noticed them yet. It takes a few more steps to the open door, and then she hears the tell-tale flutter of it’s cloaks as it disappears into the twilight. If they’re lucky, it was the only early riser of the group, and they won’t have to wait much longer. 

Lance holds her still for a few more agonising moments before releasing her, and then they both hurry back out of the room. They don’t dare speak until they’re far from the place.

“There was only supposed to be three.” Pidge says. How the hell was she this wrong?

Lance shakes his head. “Did you account for their victims? If they were really active, it’s not unlikely that they converted the other four before you got to ‘em.”

Pidge feels stupid. “Such a damn oversight. If I had’ve come here alone, I’d be dead.”

Lance leans on her head, his hands padding the point of his chin from directly touching her scalp. “Yeah, but I did.”

Pidge smiles, even though he can’t see it. “Thanks, Lance.”

“No problem.” He says, moving to walk beside her. Their hands brush and Pidge can feel her face growing hot. “You should probably get used to me hanging around you though, not cause of your personality or anything though.” Lance teased. “I never track so many leads in a single day; I'll just have to stick around you so I can get in on the action.”

Normally someone barging in on her plans was annoying, and resulted in a prompt telling off of the intruder in question. Even though Lance had been an unwanted addition at first, she had found herself slowly enjoying his company. “Only if you can keep up.” She replied, dashing past him to the next stop sign. 

“No problem, Pidge.” He replies, quickly overtaking her.

It’s not so bad to work with a partner, Pidge thinks.


	16. Klance: A little too nonchalant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance gets mad at Keith for his attitude after a dangerous mission.

Keith can feel the heat of the explosion as the doors shut behind him. Sweat coats the back of his neck, and drips into his armor. For a moment, he can’t feel anything other than relief that he’s alive, that he made it out. 

“Answer me!” Lance yells, his voice breaking. Keith snaps out of it, and suddenly, he can feel everything. His bones feel heavy, as if they’re made of lead, not calcium. His heads pounds, and he feels terrible. 

He laughs. “I’m fine. I made it.” It still doesn’t feel true. He repeats it, just to be sure that it's real. “I made it.”  
Lance doesn’t reply.

Keith cruises the rest of the way out of the mines, and out to the castle waiting for him outside. Below him, he can see the crowds of liberated people, cheering as he flies over them. A child reaches for his lion, a vaguely similar replica clutched in its other arm. Keith smiles and waves back. The kid’s face lights up, and Keith can’t help but think that this is why it’s worth it.

When he pulls into the hangar, the comms are still silent. He can’t tell if Lance didn’t hear him, or if he just didn’t bother to reply. Keith figures he’ll talk to him about it later; right now, the only thing he wants to do is take a nice, cold shower.

He stretches as he steps out of his lion and walks out, only to almost run into Lance. The Blue Paladin wraps his arms around him, and squeezes so tightly that Keith can’t tell if he’s trying to kill him or show affection. It takes Keith a minute to remember that he’s supposed to hug him back, but by then, Lance is pulling away.  
Tears streak down his face, creating brown tracks through the dust that covers him. “I thought you were dead.” He hiccups.

Keith isn’t exactly sure what to say. He was fine, honest, but obviously that didn’t matter to Lance. He blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I’m not dead.”

Lance pulls away, as if Keith was running an electric current. “But you could’ve been! When you didn’t answer, and then everything was burning, I was so scared. I thought you were dead, Keith! Doesn’t that matter to you?” Lance’s last words were more of a whine than actual words. He crosses his arms, and doesn’t meet Keith’s eyes. 

Oh shit. 

Keith is horrible at comforting Lance, especially when it’s his fault that he’s upset. He never had to deal with others like that until he got to the Garrison, and even when he got there, he didn’t interact with many people, and those he did weren’t close enough to him for him to learn The Art Of Comforting ©. The last time they got in a fight, they didn’t speak for a week, until Shiro forced him to write down an apology, versus trying to say it out loud. Of course, he didn’t have any time to write a note in response. 

He could tell the he screwed up before he even finished his sentence. “Yeah, but I’m not dead. See?”

Lance’s face did contortions as he tried to stop angry tears from spilling over. Clearly it was a battle lost, as he pushed past Keith, and back into the castle. 

Damn it.  
OoOoOoOoO  
Lance wished the castle had doors he could slam.

That’s what he used to do at home, when his brothers got too annoying, or the pressure of being the only kid in his family to make it into the Garrison became too much. He’d go into his room, and slam the closet door until he didn’t feel angry anymore. 

But what was he supposed to do now? 

He settles for going to his room; He has some pillows he can punch there, which works for now. The halls are silent as he walks back to his room. Pidge and Hunk are probably still taking off their armor. Allura is either doing the same or reviewing battle footage. He has no idea where Coran is, but he’s glad that the uncle-like Altean doesn’t intercept him. He’s not in the mood to try and be polite.

The door slides open for Lance as he barrels through. He grabs a towel off of the floor and wipes the dust from his face. He tosses it to the ground and marches towards his bed. The first punch he throws is cut short when he realizes that he’s still wearing his armor; he hadn’t stopped to take it off after Keith went offline. Suddenly the weight of the armor is stifling, and he wants it off now. Stupid Keith and his stupid recklessness. And Lance could deal with him being so reckless; it was one of the reasons why he had fallen in love with him. What he couldn’t put up with was how nonchalant he was about it. 

Almost dying wasn’t something that you should get used to, but it seemed like Keith already was. Lance claws at the little switches that keep his armor together. His leg armor pops onto the ground with a clang. Why the hell doesn’t he care? Lance cares. He cares every time someone gets hurt, but he cares for Keith most of all. And when Lance does The Reckless Thing © Keith never fails to tell him how stupid he is for being reckless, and doesn't he care a bit more about what happens to him?  
Lance is struggling to get the switches on his back so hard, he doesn’t even notice when the door slides open and Keith stumbles inside. Not until he trips over the pile of clothes by the door, and falls onto the bed beside him, rather than sitting down like a normal person. He sits there awkwardly as Lance continues to scratch at his armor. It’s not until he tries to unbuckle Lance’s armor for him that Lance actually acknowledges him. 

He turns so fast, he startles Keith, who pulls away, hands frozen where his back had been. “The next time I almost die, you can’t touch me for a week.”

Keith’s expression of surprise quickly turns to one of confusion. “What?”

“You heard me. No doting, no visiting and no watching the Cryo-pod, if I need one.”  
Lance knows the signs of Keith’s anger all too well, even though he tries to hide it. His hands curl into fists. He mouth straightens into a thin line. If you make eye contact, you’re likely to burst into flames. 

“That’s how I feel.”

“What?”

Lance rolls his eyes. Of course he wouldn’t get it. He still didn’t get the Voltron cheer. “All of that was an analogy. Now switch it around and apply it to your situation.”

“Just tell me what you mean already!” Keith yells, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation. Lance wonders if he can roll his eyes any harder. Jeez. That’s what he gets for trying to be nuanced.

“What I mean is that I worry about you when you almost die, and it’s not fair that you don’t care that you almost die, but when I almost die, it’s a big deal.” Keith’s angry expression slowly fades away. “It’s hypocritical, okay?”

Keith’s hands still hover, shifting from his shoulders to his waist until Lance thinks that he’s suffered enough, and scoots over until Keith can wrap his arms around his waist.

“I’m sorry, it’s just-”

Lance interrupts him with a kiss, and when he pulls away Keith looks even more confused. “I thought I was supposed to apologize?”

Lance sighs and shakes his head. “You don’t have to. It’s my fault for overreacting like that.”

“But still, I should-”

From the next room over, Pidge shouts. “Both of you are sorry, now make up already!”

Lance smiles devilishly. “I’d be happy to.”

Keith falls back onto his elbows as Lance crawls into his lap. “What about your armor?”

“Kiss now. Armor later.” Lance utters between kisses trailing up Keith’s neck.

Deep down, Lance knows that this’ll happen again. Keith is just too impulsive for him to expect otherwise. But for now, Lance is content to leave it, as he and his boyfriend forget about the battles behind him and the battles ahead.


	17. Pidgance: The flirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge and Lance start fake flirting to distract each other from their game. It devolves into real flirting.

It all started innocently enough.

Lance is Pidge’s first choice for her player two. He’s been awarded that honorous title, ever since she first bought the game system. However, being her Player Two constantly has created some problems. Namely, it’s not nearly as easy as it used to be to demolish him. She’s aware that both of them are competitive, and that Lance will not be beaten easily. 

As her character loses ten more HP, she has an idea.

Their characters find each other, and as Lance raises his gun to fire, Pidge grins. “You should keep your eyes on the screen.”

Lance being Lance, doesn’t listen, and turns to look at her in confusion. “Why?”

“I don’t wanna get lost in your eyes.” She finishes smoothly. Her ploy works, and Lance loses his chance to shoot her, allowing her to throw a sticky bomb at him before he realizes what’s going on. 

His gaze snaps back to the screen, and an amused grin creeps onto his face. “Trying to distract me with methods of flirtatation, huh? Well, you’ll have to try better than that. I’m the king of pick-up lines, you know.”

“Really? Cause I’ve never seen you actually manage to pick up a girl, and I’m pretty sure I’ve heard all of your material.” Pidge replies, as she attempts to find a good position to sharpshoot from. Beside her, Lance is trying to find her position, and his look of concentration is comical. His tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth, and his brows are furrowed, as if he’s solving a mathematical equation rather than playing a game.

Suddenly, he sits up straight and Pidge can almost see the light bulb going off above his head. “I lost my number. Can I have yours?”

Pidge snorts, and fires a single shot at his head, causing him to lose fiteen HP. “Nice. It would’ve been better if we actually had phones though.”

Lance steers his character on a shaky path as he pulls something from his back pocket. He tosses it into her lap, and she jumps in surprise. Before looking down, she checks to make sure her character is still safely hidden; when she does survey the object in her lap, she realizes what it is instantly. “How in the hell did you manage to keep your phone through Keith’s horrible driving?” She looks back at the screen just in time to see Lance stab her through the back. Pidge quickly turns around, and kicks him away. 

“Magic.” He says, waving one hand through the air to mime a rainbow. 

“Right.” She snorts. “Just like how you magically look like my next boyfriend.”

Lance almost drops his controller. “Damn Pidge. I have to admit, that was smooth.” His character is somewhere that she can’t place, and then suddenly, a bomb is flying past her. She barely has time to move out of the way before it goes off. “But not as smooth as me.”

Pidge tries to salvage the level, but she’s out of med-kits. The time is up, and her character loses for having the lower HP. As the next round begins, she realizes how close together they’re sitting. She’s basically on top of him; their knees touch, and their forearms abrush into each other everytime a fight gets intense. Honestly, it shouldn’t bother her that they’re so close, and it wouldn’t, if it were anyone else. But this is Lance, and Lance makes her heart stutter weirdly everytime he smiles. She realizes that she doesn’t want to move, and since Lance has yet to say anything, she doesn’t.

She dashes away from lance, and heads for the best defensive position. “Your hand looks heavy. Let me hold it for you.” 

Lance doesn’t let his eyes leave the screen, but she gives herself a moment to guage his expression. His cheeks are slightly red (Was that a blush? She didn’t know that he could blush.), but he doesn’t laugh it off like he had at her other attempts. “Sure, if you think you can beat me one-handed.”

Pidge can’t tell if he’s serious or not, so she decides to take him up on his offer as if he is. She slips her hand into his, and attempts to focus on the level, which is really hard to accomplish when you’re holding the slightly sweaty hand of an attractive cuban boy in your hand. Not to mention, playing with one hand was hard. It left her with a choice: move, or look, or attack. She couldn’t do more than one at a time.

As Lance attempts to shoot at her, he squeezes her hand lightly and says another line. “You know, your lips look kinda lonely. Would they like to meet mine?”

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. Was he serious? Cause this was kinda a jump from holding hands and exchanging cheezy pick-up lines. She watches as her attack goes wrong, and both of them die in a firey explosion. She drops the controller into her lap and turns to look at Lance’s face. He’s studying her too, she realizes as she meets his gaze. “You serious?” She asks softly.

He nods. “No joke. I just wanna know if I can kiss you.”

Pidge doesn’t reply. At least, not verbally. She leans over, one hand supporting her weight, the other still holding his hand, and presses her lips to his. He seems surprised at first, as if he wasn’t expecting it, and then he seems to wake up. His lips are really soft, she thinks as he presses back, moving his hand to support the small of her back. Oh shit. This is really happening.

The door slides open, but she barely notices until she hears Hunk’s startled shriek. “Oh my god!”  
They break apart as aruptly as their kiss began, and Pidge can’t help but to think that her face is all kinds of red. “S-sorry.” Hunk mutters, disappearing out of the doorway. She briefly wonders what it was that he wanted, before realizing that it’s not important.

Lance grins a shit-eating grin. “Wanna try again?”

“Yeah,” She nods. “We should probably get some practice in before out next round.”

As their lips meet again, all she can think is: when did she get so smooth? And to think, it all started out innocently enough.


	18. Chapter 18

Pidge rubs a little dirt on her face before stepping out of the bushes. She holds her gun up in a light grip, one barely tight enough to keep it from falling out of her hand, in a sign of surrender. 

In front of her, Lance is bleeding out on the sand, and Shiro has a gun to his head. The Galra smiles, and claps, as if she were performing a trick for his entertainment. “Good, good. I’m sure Lord Zarkon will be pleased to hear that we’ve managed to deal with the menance that has been disruptin’ his business. Now just slide the gun over, and we’ll get this over with.”

His muscle, three white men with bored expressions, watch her carefully as she lowers the gun to the sand. They watch her so intently, they don’t notice Keith and Hunk aiming their guns from the roof of the town’s canteen. Hunk offers her a thumbs up as she straightens up, and she immediately drops back down to the sand. The sun is so bright, it’s hard to see, but the dirt under her eyes help to deflect some of it, giving her a chance to watch as the Galra falls to the ground, a new hole through his skull. 

Shiro takes advantage of the confusion to knock away the gun. He headbutts him, and topples him to the ground. Shiro rips the rope tying together his hands, and pummels him into the ground. Lance is still out for the count, and is pretty much defenseless against the other muscle’s attack. One attempts to drag him to their carriage, while the other fires at Hunk and Keith, who are either pinned down, or headed downstairs to join the fight.

Pidge stands up, and grabs her gun from the ground. She dashes across the sand, and fires twice, both shots going wide. It does manage to get the Galra muscle’s attention. He drops Lance onto the sand, and turns. He fires twice, and while one shot does manage to graze her shoulder, he’s relatively unsuccessful. She turns, and fires another volley. Her aim is on point this time, and he falls to the ground, clutching his stomach.

Behind her, the battle has grown silent. 

She lifts Lance upright and leans him against the back of the carriage. Shiro walks beside her, his hand resting on the one replaced by the Galra. “Nice work, Pidge.”  
She nods in acknowledgement. 

Shiro turns back to the group. Keith and Hunk are running up to meet them. Hunk steps over the bodies carefully, while Keith makes a point to kick them as he walks by. Pidge knows that it makes Shiro uncomfortable to watch Keith disrespect the dead like that, but he doesn’t bother to speak out about something so small.

“We’re gonna take Lance back to Allura before heading out again. He needs to be healed before we try to fully secure the town.” Shiro says, helping Pidge to lift Lance into the carriage. It’s much fancier than what they’re used to; probably has less bounce than their rickety wagon, which’ll help Lance from waking up before they get back. She winces at the thought of him being conscious, and able to feel the burns and cuts that cover his body. 

They had thought that Bridgetown was safe. It seemed too far out of the way for the Galra to bother; after all, they were focused soley on profit and monopolizing the growing west. Wasting resources to go here was stupid. It was likely that the group had tracked Voltron there, and decided to try their luck. Some luck they had, she thinks, eyes drifting over the newly made corpses.

“Keith and Hunk, you take the wagon back. Pidge and I will ride with Lance.” Shiro orders. Hunk and Keith nod, and start walking back to town to get their horses.

Pidge climbs in beside Lance, as Shiro sits in front to drive. 

Voltron: meaning spirit warrior. It was a word from the Altean tribe, a title given to them by Allura. She and Coran were the last of their tribe, one of the last Native peoples in this side of the country. Pidge had never much believed in magic, like a good Christian girl’s supposed to, but she had no other word to describe what they could do. Allura could change her appearance at will, and they possesed the ability to heal wounds at an impossible rate. Lucky for them, she supposed. If they had to wait and heal like normal people did, they’d never be able to resist against the Galra. 

Somewhere down the line, Pidge falls asleep and wakes up inside the Castle of Lions. The castle is big, much too big for the seven of them, but Pidge has slowly started to think of it as home. Her bed, or rather, the Altean equivalent, is warm, and she hesitates to leave it. But this mission was supposed to be an inteliigence gathering mission, and they might have some info on the whereabouts of her father and brother. 

They had disappeared over a year ago, on a expedition to the furthermost coast to map out the best paths, to and back to the eastern coast. Shiro had been a part of the expedition, but had escaped whatever fate her family had been left to. Of course, he had not escaped without a toll. His arm had been cut off, and replaced with a steam powered contraption that moved like a human hand did. Even though it was an amazing replacement, Shiro hated it. He hated having to supply it with more water, or having to clean the gears that kept it running. Pidge had taken it upon herself to complete these tasks, before anyone else awoke. 

Pidge slides out of bed, and pulls on her boots. She always sleeps in her pants (she’s learned to after Allura fell in love with midnight drills.), and her chest bindings, so all she has to do is pull on her shirt and holster before leaving her room. Outside, the halls are still quiet. Lance and Hunk are late sleepers, and while Keith is a fellow early riser, he spends these quiet hours training.

She slips down the hall and into the kitchen, where Shiro and Allura are sitting. Shiro shovels food into his mouth mechanically, as Allura chats animatedly about something or other. Pidge walks in quietly and grabs the cleaning kit from the shelf. She brings it to the table, and gently lifts Shiro’s arm from his lap and onto the table. He nods in acknowledgement, and continues to listen to Allura’s tale.

“...and then Krotor, he fired through the waterfall, and hit the krobosh right in the heart. He would’ve won my hand in marriage then, if I hadn’t have fired after him, right through his arrow.” She beams, and Shiro smiles back. It’s rare to see Shiro smile, and Pidge is glad that Allura can still cause him to. 

She pulls a gear from his elbow, and cleans it off before regreasing it and replacing it. She repeats the process for the next joint, and then for his shoulder. When she’s done, she grabs the kettle from over the fire and pours the fire into the spout. His arm responds with a hiss and crackle, Pidge smiles smugly at the finished task and stands, just as the others walk into the kitchen.

“I was going to cook the coshbar this morning.” Coran complains, at the sight of the prepared pot. 

Allura smiles apologetically. “I was feeling bored this morning. I haven’t tried my hand at cooking in a while.”

Hunk and Lance exchange excited looks. While Coran is very nice, his food is very bad. At least, it is in comparison to Hunk or Allura’s cooking. They sit down and start to shovel the gruel into their mouths as if it’s their last meal. Shiro slides a bowl in front of Pidge and she nods her thanks before digging in. As everyone starts to eat, Shiro drops his relaxed demeanor and drops an envelope onto the table.

“The document we took yesterday alludes to a forced work camp near the coast. There’s a chance that we could find the Holts there, but we won’t know for sure until we check it out.” He pulls a map from the envelope and spreads it out on the table. He points to several locations on the map. “We’ll hit these on the way there. Each one is either a Galra comtrolled town or a work camp, filled with natives. We’ll get this one today.” He points to one that’s near a two day ride from the Castle.  
Lance frowns with a mouth full of gruel. Specs of it fly out fly out as he complains. “But we just got back!”

Keith wrinkles his nose. “Eat with your mouth closed.”

Lance stuffs another spoonful into his mouth. “I’ll do what I wanna, Keith!”

Keith winces more strongly, and glares at him, before sliding his bowl closer to Hunk. 

“Be nice.” Shiro warns, as he brings his bowl back to the counter.

It’s close to noon when they leave camp, and Pidge resents the sun that beats heavily on her back. If she didn’t care about the inevitable sunburn, she’d take her shirt off; the heat is so stifling. However, she knows that she’s got this shift until three, so she resists.

In the carriage she drives, she can hear Lance and Keith fighting. She can’t hear much more than their raised voices, but she finds herself smiling anyways. She wishes that they’d just get together, however indecent the idea may be. She knows that Eastern society would never allow it, but out here in the uncontrollable west, no one would know any better. Just like how no one knew that she was a girl. 

Well, outsiders anyway. She had told the members of Voltron a month or two ago, and while Lance had been surprised, the others had figured it out. Shiro had known first. Shiro had recalled the sister that Matt had talked about, and it wasn’t hard to connect the dots. After all, with her hair cut short, she looked almost identical to her brother. Outsiders, like those that they rescued, often assumed that she was male.

The fact that she was a girl didn’t defer her from wanting to take her shirt off. She sighed, and continued to drive. She slowed the horses down as a canyon loomed before them. It’s high walls were daunting, and she couldn’t help but think of all the places to hide and wait for an opportunity for an ambush. 

“What’s the hold up?” Lance says, his head sticking out of the small conversation window. The last time he did that, he got his head stuck and it took them an hour to get him out. 

She points at the looming canyon walls. “I’m not sure that it’s a good idea. Too many places to hide out, and too many opportunities for ambush.”

Keith yells from inside the cabin. “Get yer fat head back into the damn carriage before you get stuck again.”

Lance pulls his head back, as Shiro rides up beside her. “If we go around it, it adds another day to the ride that we just can’t afford. We’ll just have to be careful.”  
Pidge nods, and pulls the reigns. The horses start trotting again, and Pidge only keeps half of her attention on steering. The rest of her mind is focused on the walls, and the caves that spot them. They’re halfway through when she lets her guard down. She can see the other side when Keith calls to switch. She climbs out of the seat and stumbles onto the ground. Her legs are asleep, and she decides to walk around the carriage once or twice before getting in to wake them up.

Keith doesn’t get in the driver’s seat right away either. He walks over to Shiro, and says something that she doesn’t hear. 

That’s when it all went to hell.

All she can hear is gunfire. Loud and echoing, it seemsto come from everywhere. She’s lost at first, unable to tell where it’s coming from. She finally snaps out of her trance, and runs back to the relative cover of the cart. She pulls her gun from her holster, and looks at the walls across from her. She can just barely see the sun, reflecting off of the barrel of a gun. It’s too large to be owned by a regular civilian; it’s either Galra or military, and seeing as she’s never seen military this far out, she knows it’s Galra.

She fires, and she can’t tell if she hit her mark. The tell-tale reflection is gone, and there is too much gunfire for her to tell if he’s gone. She looks for another, and is focusing so hard, she doesn’t notice the Galra until he’s right on top of her. She takes the brunt of his hit in her back, and for a moment, she can’t even breathe. The stun wears off, just as the Galra is aiming his gun at her, and she rolls out of the way. Pidge aims her gun at him, and fires. It hits his shoulder instead of his head, but he falls nonetheless. She doesn’t want to waste the bullet on an already incapicitated enemy, but it’s another Galra that decides for her. 

A bullet flies past her ear, and she swears that she can smell her hair burning. 

She turns, and fires, her bullet just missing Keith, whose knife has just crossed the Galra’s neck who had in turn just fired at her. She shoots him an apologetic look before ducking down again. Lance dashes to the side of her, his chest heaving with every breath he takes. 

“Cover me. I’ll try to get across to that alcove and cover you from there.” He says before running away. She barely had time to adjust her gun before the first Galra tries to attack. 

She shoots one, the bullet going through his throat and into the rock behind him. The second turns and fires at her, realizing that since she’s stationary, she’s an easier target. He thought wrong. She fires and her aim is true. It leaves a hole through his skull.

The battle is over as aruptly as it began.

Gunfire slowly dies out, and they slowly drift back to the carriages to regroup. 

“That was fun.” Keith mutters, a hand pressing against a cut on his arm. 

Lance runs up beside him, sporting a bloodstain on his thigh and left shoulder. “No kidding.”

Shiro’s arm is steaming, a sure sign of it’s overuse, and Hunk is glaring at the damaged carriage, like it’s to blame for it’s own destruction. Sure, she thinks, she may have just almost died, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.


	19. Klance: Captured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith are captured by the Galra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a few more chapters that are posted soley on Tumblr, so if you want to check em out, go to VoltronWordDump on tumblr.
> 
> Also, since I reached 50 followers on there, I'm doing a challenge where you can send in prompts and I reply with a story. Feel free to check that out.

It happens so fast, Lance can’t even pinpoint where it all went wrong.  
He remembers what came before. They were flying, racing really, in the name of ‘training’ to the farthest moon, a small red rock that the locals had testified as barren and remote. No one was supposed to be there, which was fine by them. Pidge and Hunk and Allura and Coran were great, but even so, you needed to have time to yourself at some point. And while the castle was huge, and full of unexplored rooms, Lance really wanted to go somewhere that he hadn’t already seen. After all, he had gone to the Garrison to be a pilot; it had always been his dream to see the stars.  
If Keith hadn’t come with him, it would’ve been a leisurely flight, but as always, Keith brought out his most competitive side. After exchanging some banter, they had ended up racing.

Lance sits up, and leans against the wall. It feels grimy and sticky, and if it were any other time, he would’ve had a fit about it, but for now, he welcomes the support. His head is spinning, like he’s been on the tilt a whirl a few too many times. He takes a moment and looks around the cell for Keith, and finds him sprawled out in the middle of the floor. He doesn’t look injured, and Lance was see the rise and fall of his chest, so he doesn’t try to move him. 

What made them crash? That’s the real question. Lance closes his eyes, and sighs in relief as the dizziness abides. It was after they had gotten to the moon, he remembers. On the dark side, where the moon’s radiation and mass masked the signature of pretty much everything, a Galra ship had been lying in wait. Lance’s guess was that they were going to attack the planet again after Voltron left. Since they got there first….Well shit. 

Because of the radiation, no one was gonna know that they were missing for a while, and by then, they could be long gone.

Keith moans lowly, a sound like one used in a cheesy horror movie. Lance opens his eyes, and is glad to find that his vision has settled. He sets his gaze on Keith, who is slowly sitting up. 

“You good?” Lance croaks. Damn, it feels like he hasn’t talked in days, and it’s quite possible that it’s true. 

Keith stands up, and clutches his stomach as he crosses the room. He slides down the wall to sit beside him and utters a low. “Yeah.” before leaning his head on Lance’s shoulder.

Lance is almost too shocked to talk for a moment. Keith never touches other people first. Not when Pidge needs a hug, or Shiro needs a hand (no pun intended). He’ll live with human contact, but he never starts it. Lance regains his voice. “Yeah, well, my head’s killing me and I’m pretty sure we’ve been captured. You remember what happened before we got here?”

Keith lifts his head to shoot him an incredulous look. “You don’t remember?”

Lance shakes his head, annoyed. “I just said that.”

Keith put his head back on Lance’s shoulder. “We were ambushed. We were going around the moon, when a Galra ship ambushed us. We were severely outnumbered, and the lions probably would’ve been captured if you didn’t have the idea to send them back to the castle. We ejected, landed right on the surface, and we forced them to pay attention to us.” Keith laughs bitterly. “We caused a lot of damage before they caught up with us.”

Lance stares at his hands. They have cuts on them, and he can see a bruise forming on his wrist. Keith’s gloves still cover the majority of his hands, but from what he can see, his hands are just as banged up. “It looks like they caused a lot of damage too.” He says softly.

The door opens (Lance hadn’t even noticed that there was a door.), and a Galra commander steps inside. Two droids flank him, guns brandished in their arms, their tips glowing and ready to fire. The commander isn’t as tall as Lance would’ve expected, but he’s built. As in, big enough to lift a car if he wanted to.

The Galra smiles, showing off a mouth full of sharp teeth. “I never would’ve expected to have two paladins simply fall into my hold, without my interference.”

Lance wants to say something, in fact, he has something just perfect to respond with picked out, but Keith pushes his hand into Lance’s and squeezes like he’s trying to break it. Lance is pretty sure that’s a hint to keep quiet, so he bites his tongue and waits for the Commander to continue.

“I would’ve had those lions too, and boy would I have had a pay-off for those. Now, while I do have to keep you alive until I get you back to Command Central, there was nothing that said I had to get you there unharmed.” He snaps his fingers and two of the droids step forward. “Now don’t you worry, boys. It won’t be for nothing. We’ll ask some questions and make this into a little interrogation. Who wants to go first?”

Lance isn’t going to be able to plan something on his own, and he’s not skilled enough to fight his way out of the cell hand to hand. If anyone’s going to do anything, it would be Keith who had the big idea. He drops Keith’s hand and raises it into the air. “Pick me. Pick me. Pick me.” He says, as if he’s trying to get the teacher to pick him, rather than a bloodthirsty general.

The General shakes his head. “Ah, there it is. You probably volunteered because you’re the selfless type, huh? In that case, get the Red one. It’ll tear the Blue one up more to know that it’s his fault.” He grins maniacally as the two droids reach for Keith. Lance knows that’s it’s probably a better idea to sit tight and not get injured, but hell, he’s not letting them take Keith, not without a fight.

Keith hisses. “Don’t.”

He lunges at the droid on the left, and knocks him to the ground. Lance bangs his fist on his head, trying to dent it, until the Commander himself pulls him off of it. He throws him against the wall so hard that his breath is forced out of him. Lance’s head is spinning again, and his vision is so blurred that he can barely see Keith, as they drag him out of the door. He’s not giving them any easier of a time than Lance did. 

Lance can’t help but feel a little bit smug that they at least did some damage before being separated. 

The Commander steps forward and grabs Lance by the collar, before slamming him back down again. “You’ll get your turn, Blue. Until then, sit tight.”

He leaves, along with Keith, and Lance is left alone in his cell. His head keeps spinning until he feels so sick, he can’t even keep his head up. He leans forward, to throw up, and ends up falling as he retches, just beside his vomit. As his vision fades into darkness, he hopes that Keith will fare better than him.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Keith tries his best to memorize the twists in turns that they take, but it’s hard to concentrate after all the hits that he’s incurred. His head hurts, and stomach hurts like hell. If Lance hadn’tve gone crazy like that, Keith could’ve held off on the resistance until he had a better opportunity. Keith thought that Lance knew better than to try and volunteer. Obviously not.

The droids drag him into a room and throw him onto a lab table. Keith flails his arms, but there’s too many of them- enough for one to match each of his limbs. They hold him down, and strap him to the table. Once he’s secure, they step back, allowing the general full access to him. 

The Commander rolls his sleeves up and steps to the side of him. Keith can hear the sound of metal clanging on metal, and he tries not to think of the things Shiro told him about. He yanks on the straps fruitlessly as the Commander smiles down at him. “I’ll give you an easy question first, eh? How many planets are you in alliance with?”

Keith glares at him but doesn’t answer. 

The Commander laughs. “Great! Great! I get to go ahead and mess with ya, then.” He places a towel over Keith’s face, and then pours water over it.

Keith immediately starts to gag. He can’t get any air; all he can feel is water, dripping between his lips, into his nostrils and into his lungs. It stops, and the Commander lifts the towel, giving him a chance to breathe. “Got an answer for me yet?”

Keith doesn’t do anything but breathe in deep ragged breaths. The Commander shakes his head and replaces the towel. He pours water again, and asks the same question. 

“Not your style, eh?” He puts the cloth back on the table and pulls another tool from the table. A knife, Keith dimly recognised, before it was driven into his arm. 

Keith couldn’t help but cry out as it dug into his skin. It hurt so much more to be stabbed, then it did to simply be beaten. Beatings left you sore and aching, but stab wounds left a sharp pain that you couldn’t just ignore; they reminded you of how close you were to not living, to not feeling that pain anymore. 

He cut again, this time at his forearms, on the sides away from his veins. “How many are stationed at your main base?”

This time, he didn’t even pause for Keith to answer the question. He just continued to slash, as if he was carving art out of Keith’s skin.

Finally, he stops. His face is sweaty, and he’s panting like he’s been running a marathon. He gently places the knife back on the table and motions for the droids to release him. There’s less of them here now, probably because he knows that Keith can’t resist like he did before. 

They drag him back to the cell as the Commander trails behind. “We’ll see if your friend can hold up as well as you. I think he’s a bit more talkative than you, don’t you think?”

Keith doesn’t reply. 

They practically toss him into the cell, but luckily, Lance is there to cushion his fall. The door shuts, and they are left alone.

“Oh my god, Keith!” Lance says, hands hovering above his body, as if he’s afraid to touch him. He probably is, Keith thinks. His whole body aches, and his clothes are in tatters. Keith slowly sits up, only for Lance to gently force him back down. “Stay still. You’re fucking hurt, Keith and it’s my fault. I should’ve left the impulsiveness to you.”

Keith grabs Lance’s hand again, and squeezes reassuringly. “Next time, yeah. I thought that I had all of the impulsiveness that the team needs. You have to balance me out. Level head and all.”

Keith hopes that the Commander won’t be back for a while. He doesn’t know how well Lance will hold up during his torture, and he really doesn’t want Lance to get hurt from all of this. He’s already blaming himself for getting them into this mess; he doesn’t need to deal with physical pain too. They sit in silence for a while. It could’ve been minutes or hours; in that cell, time passes strangely. Then Keith starts to feel sleepy, and he knows that sleeping isn’t an option. Not yet at least. A question dawns on him. Lance doesn’t like him (or is oblivious to Keith’s little crush on him, anyways). So, why did he blow up like that earlier?

“Why’d you have such a fit over me, anyways?” Keith asks.

Lance was probably nodding off too, as his head jerks back up as the sound of Keith’s voice. “Huh?”

“You didn’t keep your head like you usually do. On the Balmera, you were the one who reminded me not to be rash and just blow everything up. It just doesn’t seem like you, to suddenly go crazy like that.”

Lance doesn’t answer for a moment. 

Keith wonders if he fell asleep again, when he opens his mouth to reply. “I-”

Just as he starts to speak, the door opens and the Commander strides in. “You wanted to have a turn, Blue?”

Keith is pushed out of Lance’s lap, as two droids pick him up and drag him away. Lance doesn’t fight this time, but Keith is, until three more droids enter the room and pin him to the ground. With a knee in his back, and his arms pushed to the ground so hard it feels like they’re being welded together, he can do nothing but watch as they drag Lance away, the answer to his question frozen on his tongue.

OoOoOoOoO

Lance really wishes that he had told Keith why right away. After all, it’s not like Lance didn’t know the answer, right off the bat. 

He had gone crazy because he liked Keith. 

He didn’t like to think about it. He really shouldn’t have any attraction at all towards a boy like that, with a mullet and a rebellious streak a mile wide. He should hate him, for how much they fight, and for all of the times that Lance has been reminded that he was only a fighter pilot because of Keith’s absence. But he doesn't. Somewhere down the line, hatred and competition became attraction. And now Lance can’t get him out of his head. The thought of Keith, the guy he’d had a crush on for over a year now, being tortured all because of Lance wanting to go for a flight has him going mad. He couldn’t just let that happen, so he fought like it were the end of the world, like Lance would die if they took Keith without a fight.

It obviously didn’t get them anywhere, cause Lance was going to be interrogated too. 

The droids stop dragging him, and he realizes that he hasn’t paid attention at all to where he went. If he did manage to escape, he wouldn’t even know where to go. Lance doesn’t have time to berate himself any more, as the droids slam him onto the table. He manages to lift his head, preventing it from being slammed anymore (Lance is ninety percent sure that he has a concussion.) but he can’t do anything about his back.

He doesn’t bother to struggle against the ties holding him down, and instead waits patiently for them to finish. The Commander is smiling as he rummages through the metal tray beside him. Then Lance gets an idea.  
Back in High school, Lance had been one of those Drama buffs. He’d been the lead of the school play four times, and each one had required a faked death. Maybe he could fake passing out, and could avoid the torture. After all, why bother torturing someone who’s unconscious?

Lance starts to breathe deeply, as if he can’t get enough air. The General glances at him before going back to looking over his tools. Lance keeps it up for a moment, and tenses his body. As the Commander turns back to him, Lance fakes choking and rolls his eyes back in his head. He closes his eyes and relaxes. 

His heart is beating like crazy, and he hopes that the Commander doesn’t hear. 

And then he feels the Commander's hand around his left leg, right in the middle of his shin. Lance doesn’t react, not until the Commander starts laughing and starts to squeeze.

“I’ve been doing this for years, Blue Paladin. I know better than to trust a fainting spell.” The Commander squeezes harshly, and his leg snaps, with an audible crack. 

Lance screams, his voice covering the Commander’s words for one breathless moment. 

“Oh, no!” The Commander says in faux shock. “I forgot to ask the question.”

A droid steps into the room, and Lance can barely hear him over his own sharp shrieks. “Commander S…. to the bridge.”

The Commander looks at Lance disappointedly. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to resume this later. Take him back to his cell.”

The droid is joined by another one, and together they unstrap him from the slab, and start to drag him down the hall. They don’t pay any attention to Lance’s leg, which drags uselessly behind him. At least it’s starting to feel numb, Lance thinks as they continue through a series of twists and turns. At least I didn’t say anything, he thinks dejectedly.

They drop Lance in the middle of the cell as soon as they arrive, and then leave without a second glance. Keith pulls him into his lap, and ghosts his hands over his leg. “You’re going to need a healing pod.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Keith shakes his head. “No, damnit. You’re leg will be totally screwed up if we don’t get this fixed soon.”

“Got it.” Lance manages. God, he feels so sleepy. He know he shouldn’t, cause concussion and all, but he really just wants to lay his head in Keith’s lap and close his eyes until the Commander comes again. But wait. He still wants to tell Keith about how he feels, before he passes out or they are separated again. He starts. “I really-”

Something crashes into the ship, and the whole things shakes dangerously in recognition. Lance tumbles out of Keith’s lap and onto the floor, and he cries out at the sudden movement of his leg. 

“What was that?” Lance whispers, eyeing the ceiling suspiciously. If the darnn thing is gonna fall in, he at least wants to have some fair warning. 

“I-” Before Keith can finish speaking, a loud roar resonates through the ship. 

The sound is familiar. Just as familiar as Keith’s voice, or the thrum of the castle’s engine beneath him. The lions, he realizes. The others have found them.

All that they have to do now is wait. 

Now’s the time, Lance chided himself. They're alone and for the most part, safe. When else will he be able to tell Keith? If he doesn't do it now, Lance doesn't think he'll ever be able to say it. 

Best to get it over with, like pulling off a band-aid, he thinks with a grimace. “Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“I like you.”

Keith sputters, and looks up from the wounds that he’s been wrapping. “What? Where did that come from?”

“You asked earlier,” Lance explains. His face feels hot and he has to resist the urge to look away. “Why I lost my head. It's cause I like you.”

Lance can't tell Keith’s reaction from his expression beyond that he’s surprised. His mouth opens and closes like a flailing fish and his eyes are wide as Lance has ever seen them. 

Outside, they can hear the sound of Pidge’s voice, muffled by the thick door. 

“Hey!” Lance yells. “We’re in here!” He tries to stand and use the wall as a crutch, but Keith stands beside him and drops Lance's arm around his shoulder.

“I thought you hated me, actually.” Keith admits as they limp towards the barred window. 

“I was jealous maybe, but I've never hated you. I thought you hated me.” Lance replies before yanking on the bars. “Hey! It's Lance! And Keith!” He adds.

“Well if you had’ve cleared that up sooner, I would’ve told you.”

Lance is half distracted by the figures outside of the window, and by his attempts to stick his hand between the bars. He barely hears him.

“Told me what?” 

“That I like you too.”

Lance stumbles back, setting the two of them off balance. It results in the two of them landing on the floor, Lance’s leg saved from further injury only because he kicked it up as they fell. Keith rubs the arm that he fell on and glares at Lance. 

“Why’d you fall? We were perfectly in balance.” 

Lance blushes. “You surprised me is all.”

Before Keith can reply, the door is sliding open with a hiss. Pidge states down at them, her expression changing from one of surprise, to relief, to amusement.

“Looks like you guys were getting comfy in here, huh?” She says mischievously, offering Keith a hand.

“Shut up.” Lance retorts, as she helps him up and takes one arm over her shoulder. Keith takes the other an  
and they stumble out of the cell. “How’d you find us anyway?”

The little green gremlin smiles smugly. “We’re all biochipped. I couldn't track you guys until the radiation wasn’t interfering, but after that, it was a piece of cake.”

“Wait, you did what?” Lance and Keith ask at the same time. 

Lance snorts. “Wow, we even think alike.”

Keith offers a small smile. “I guess we do.”


	20. Pidgance: Beach day

The group needed a break. 

That was one fact that no one would contest. Pidge had fallen asleep at the wheel more than twice. Hunk had accidentally mixed sealant into the food goo. Lance had gotten stuck in his armor, while Keith had gotten beat by the training gladiator twice. Meanwhile, Allura had wormholed them into the wrong quadrant twice, leaving her drained and the castle stagnant.

Coran had been the one to suggest taking a day off. “We’re nearby a resort planet, or at least what used to be one. I don't think the Galra have laid their eyes on it for a while, and it's been uninhabited for years.”

Lance’s head shot up from his console. “Is there a beach?”

Coran twisted his mustache. “I believe there is.” He tapped on the center console and a picture blew up on the screen. It was a beach. Of that much, Pidge was sure. However, it didn't look anything like any beach Pidge had seen. The sand was pitch black, but sparkled like they were glass shards. The water was a strange red color, one that reminded her of rust. “Is this the kind of beach that you were looking for?”

Lance beamed. “It's a beach. That's good enough for me.”

“Does anybody have an issue with a beach day?” Allura asked, eyeing each paladin in turn. 

No one spoke up. 

Now Pidge kinda wishes that she had. 

She keeps her flip flops on as she walks onto the sand. It’s hot, unsurprisingly (the color black attracts more heat than white sand does), and still manages to burn the bottoms of her feet as sand slides between her feet and the plastic. Lance tries his best to tiptoe to the shoreline without touching the sand more than he has to, and ends up dashing to the comfort of the water when the heat gets to be too much. Hunk carries an umbrella, as well as a whole basket of towels. Luckily, he chose to wear swim shoes, so he isn’t bothered by the heat of the sand. 

Pidge follows close behind him, and picks up whatever falls out of his clutch. She’s holding four towels, along with her own bag by the time they reach the shoreline. Lance walks out of the water, his shins and feet wet and dripping onto the sand. As she spreads a towel out onto the sand, he pulls his shirt up in that weird, cross armed way that guys often do, and tosses it onto the towel. 

It’s not polite to stare. It’s not polite to stare. It’s not polite to stare, she recites, hoping that the repetition will make her avert her eyes. It doesn’t. She just ends up sneaking looks more discreetly, looking up through the brim of her sunhat and out of the corner of her eye. Keith finally joins them, and he barely pauses except to toss the boogey boards and his shoes onto the sand. He dashes into the water with his shirt still on, and wades up to his chest. 

Lance isn’t far behind. He grabs a boogey board and jumps into the surf. He paddles out to sea, and turns to face the shore as he waits for a wave. 

Hunk opens the umbrella and stakes it into the sand. It opens with flourish and Pidge jumps at the sound. “Don’t like the water much?” Hunk asks as he unpacks another bag. He pulls out what looks like a portable grill, as well as a selection of meats and vegetables that look vaguely like sea creatures. 

She shakes her head. “I love the beach actually. I just… I dunno. I’ll go in in a minute.”

Hunk nods and pulls out an assortment of spices. Dang. How deep is his bag? “Well, I’ll call you when the food’s ready.”

Pidge nods back and stares back out at the water. Lance is riding a wave inland, and struggling to stay upright on the board. She giggles as he tumbles off of it and into the waves. She hasn’t been boogie boarding since the year before her family went missing. Her mother hadn’t been well enough to take her to the beach after that, and she had been to focused on finding the truth to even think about a trip to the beach. She stands from her towel, and kicks her flip flops to the side. She grabs one of the remaining boards and dashes across the burning sand to the refuge of the water. 

It’s strange, how red it is. Coran had said something about how oxidation had caused it, and how the changes in color were due to temperature. He had even shown a picture of pink water, in the northern seas. It was kind of amazing how the water wasn’t opaque, but with a similar opacity to that of earth water. 

“You comin’ in?” Lance calls as he breaks through the surface of the water. He brushes the water from his eyes, and completely misses how Pidge’s gaze first goes to his chest, and exposed abs before returning to his face. 

“Yup.” She says as she paddles deeper into the water. A small wave lifts her for a moment, and she rises above Lance, who choses to dive under it instead.

“You sure you can handle a sweet ride like that?” Lance teases as he backstrokes beside her. 

She snorts. “Of course I can. From what I can see, you’re the one who isn’t up to the task.”

Lance stops and pouts. Pidge stops paddling as well, and when she hands off of the side of the board, she finds that she can no longer touch the sand below her. “Wanna bet?”

“Whoever catches the most waves by lunch wins...whatever they want from the loser. Deal?”  
She offers her hand. Lance doesn’t hesitate to shake it.

“Deal.”

He pulls the floating board back into his reach, and moves the leash from his ankle to his wrist. They both pull their boards underneath their stomachs and wait for the tell-tale pull of the water. 

“Is this your favorite thing to do at the beach?” Pidge asks as the first wave gently bobs them. The water is really warm, she thinks, as a cool breeze brushes over her skin, nearly lifting her hat from her head. She reaches up and tightens the knot underneath her neck.

Lance nods. “As long as I’m in the water, I’m having fun.”

The second wave lifts them higher, before cresting a few feet ahead of them. Pidge looks behind her at the third wave, and starts to kick, her grip tight on the edges of her board. Soon enough, the wave lifts her, and she starts to ride. 

It’s a similar feeling to that of flying her lion, she thinks as the wave propels her forward. Then her balance starts to get unsteady. The wave is pushing her too fast, and she falls, headfirst into the frothy water. She waits a moment for the wave to pass overhead before breaking the surface of the water. Pidge looks around, and yet, cannot find Lance. At least, not until she sees him waving at her, close to the shore.

“Did he actually ride that?” She calls to Keith, who seems to be floating on his back in the shallower end, closer to where Hunk is cooking on the sand.

He doesn’t bother to turn and face her. He simply offers an thumbs up.

“Curse you.” She mutters under her breath as she swims back into the surf. Lance’s legs are much longer than hers, allowing him to catch up with her before she reaches their original starting point.

“One point for me.” He says, beaming. He lets his board drag behind him as he floats backwards, uncaring of the water that occasionally splashes into his eyes and into his mouth.

Pidge feels the drag of a wave, and bunkers down on her board. Suddenly, the wave lifts her up, and she’s gone, riding the strange red water, as easily as if she were piloting her lion. She rides it all the way until her board hits the sand, even though she’ll have to bring it all the way back out there for the next wave.  
“One point for Pidge!” She yells triumphantly, thrusting her fist into the air. 

Hunk cups his hands around his mouth. “Lunch time!”

Pidge can smell the roasting meat, even from where she sits on the edge of the water. It makes her mouth water, and she almost stands up to go get some, when Lance finally makes it to the knee deep water. Pidge had seen them all shirtless before, or at least had been in the same room with them when they were. She’d seen Lance (although she was trying not to study him.) earlier, but this was different. The tolls of training had worked off most of the softness of Lance’s body, leaving his already lean body with muscles that highlight the subtle strength of his thighs, and chest. 

“Staring much?” Keith mutters as he passes by, humor laced in his voice. 

“Shuddup.” She mutters back as she stands, heading back to the sand. She manages to take three normal steps before thinking, fuck it, and running to the safety of the towel. 

Lance doesn’t make it past a single step before deciding to dash to the blanket. He collapses into the towel, which by now is covered in clots of black, shining sand. Hunk hands out plates, and they all try to huddle beneath the oversized umbrella. 

“What is this?” Pidge asks, a mouthful of something that tastes like barbecue chicken that’s a little too sweet. 

Keith is too busy eating his third piece to notice Hunk’s smug look.

“Grilled Chyvian meat. It’s this really cool meat goo thing, that’s grown from stem cells. Coran helped me make it.” He offers another piece to Pidge, and she takes it with a smile.

“Well, this is great Hunk.” Lance says, his mouth stuck. He finishes his food and sucks the remaining sauce off of his fingers. Pidge looks away. “So, Hunk, you were keeping score right?”

Hunk nods as he finishes off his own piece of meat. 

“So who won?” She can hear in Lance’s voice that he thinks that he won. Pidge can’t exactly remember her own score, but she’s pretty sure that she’s the winner.

“Tie.” 

Pidge deadpans, and turns to look at Lance. He sighs dramatically. 

“I guess no one wins the prize then, huh?”

Pidge wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to ask for if she did win. A hug would be kinda weird, wouldn’t it? Especially since they were both half naked. Asking for help with one of her inventions would be kind of mundane, considering that he would’ve helped her anyways. Or what about a-

Lance interrupts her train of thought. “What would you have asked for anyways? A kiss?” He suggests with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Pidge can feel her face heating up, more so than it already was from the sun. “I-I, uh, um.” She stutters, unable to actually form a coherent thought. 

Lancce’s jovial smile lessens somewhat, and he looks at her with concern. “I was just joking Pidge. I mean, that’s what I’d ask for, but you could’ve always said no. Are you good?”

She nods. “I’m fine. I just, I didn’t think that you knew.”

“That you liked me?” Lance asks, laying back on the cooler sand beneath the umbrella. He’s too long to fit completely under the umbrella’s protective shadow, so he props his legs up, leaving his feet near Pidge’s thigh. “I thought it was pretty obvious. And I thought I was pretty obvious too.”

Pidge wonders if she has a sunburn with how hot her cheeks are burning. 

“Oh.” She says, unable to think of anything else to say. “Do you wanna build a sandcastle?”

“Sure.” Lance says, dropping his plate back into Hunk’s miraculously large bag. “I bet ours will be bigger than anything they can make.” He says loudly. 

Hunk picks up on the challenge. “You really think it’s a good idea to challenge an engineer?”

Lance waves him off. “Doesn’t matter, cause I’ve got Pidge.”

“Uh-uh, nope. We each have an hour to build the best sandcastle. Come on, Keith.” Hunk grabs Keith’s wrist and drags him to the farthest corner of the umbrella. Keith looks utterly confused, and slightly miffed at the sand that’s now mixed with the remaining sauce on his hands.

Pidge turns back to Lance, who is already heading out to gather the slightly damp sand from the shoreline. “I don’t understand how this became a competition, but we’re gonna win it anyways.”

Lance smiles back, waves cresting behind him. “Of course we will. Cause together, we’re the best.”


	21. Haggar/ Zarkon: Betrayal hurts like a bitch

Betrayal hurts like a bitch.

King Alfor had declared that Alteans and Galra were no to interact, and since he had influence over more than half of the Council, his word was enforced. The colonial outposts were emptied within a month, and eventually, the evacuations came closer and closer to home. Home had been a stationery word for her. She rarely used it; as a medic and witch woman, she had little use for staying in one place. But for the past half a year, she had called the home of the Black Paladin her own.

King Zarkon had his own slew of problems as the king of Ganesia. While his race was prospering, their population was by far outgrowing their food and land supply. Normally, this would end with the Planetary council allotting another planet to fix the population distribution, but with Alfor heading it, they had refused vehemently. Even though the Alteans had another planet under their control that was underpopulated due to their own reproduction problems. King Alfor had made the relations with Zarkon worse by recalling their scattered population in the hopes of repopulating their planet. 

Haggar refused to go. So did many others who had found love, or a home with those of other species. Their host planets had forced them to go. They had rounded them up, and shipped them back to Altea as prisoners. Still, many of them had found refuge on Ganesia, under the protection of King Zarkon. 

She couldn’t say if she had influenced his decision, or if he had done it out of spite, but she was glad that he had made it. 

Haggar wondered if this was love that she was feeling. She hadn’t believed in love before now, but why else did she feel so bound to him, over her own planet, her own people? 

King Alfor demanded a search of his planet while at a diplomatic meeting meant to resolve the simmering distrust between the two peoples. Zarkon had no choice but to comply; it meant avoiding a war, even if he could very well take them on. But Haggar didn’t. 

She had never used her magic on such a large scale. She connected with every Altean on the planet, felt their minds touch for a moment, and excluded those who were loyal to Altea. She could feel it, that same sentiment that they all shared: hate, for their home planet. 

King Alfor had walked right past her without a second glance at her appearance. He had only found two Alteans, both unable to shapeshift. King Alfor apologized for the intrusion, and left, anger evident in his cool demeanor.

It was then that they started to prepare for war. Ships were being manufactured by the dozen, as droids were made to match every solider in their army. Recruitment was very successful, and at least eighty percent of the population was enlisted. Haggar had been practicing her magic all the while, and slowly was getting stronger. 

It was just when Altea and Ganesia were at the brink of war that Haggar finally admitted it.

“I love you.” She said plainly. Neither of them liked the deception that long, frilly words emitted.

Zarkon looked up from his battle plans. He was always working on something, she had noticed. Every day, no matter if he were eating, or drinking or resting. It had aged him, all of these undue problems. 

He smiled, and for the first time in a while didn’t look tired. “Is it not improper for an Altean and a Galra to fall in love?”

“Like hell if I care what’s proper, my lord.” She replied, taking a bite from her clukivan. If there was one thing that she never missed about Altea, it was the food. They were a largely vegetarian planet, but she had always preferred the taste of meat. Galran cuisine had been what had won her over, she had often joked.

“I suppose we do have that in common.” He pushed his papers away. “I’m going to declare war on Altea. We will get the land that we need, with or without the support of the Council.” He paused to meet her eyes. “Would you still love me then?”

“I hold no love for Altea, my lord.” She replied without hesitation.

That was the day that they consummated it, and the day that she chose to give up her original appearance. She hid it behind purple skin, and yellow, pupil-less eyes. 

When she led one of the first sieges against Altea, she was sure to let Alfor know that Alteans fought with them. It was the last time that she had dropped her Galra skin, and she didn’t regret it. The look on his face was worth it. She smiled. Betrayal hurts like a bitch.


	22. Sheith: Royal/Knight AU

As the youngest of three Princes, Keith could do practically anything that he wanted. It was practically guaranteed that he would never get the crown, so what would it matter if Keith got himself killed in battle, in the name of their country, or in the streets like a beggar, fighting over something as stupid as pride? His father did, apparently. His mother had died in childbirth with him, making him the last royal child that would ever come from his line. 

The boy smirks, brown hair falling into his blue eyes. His brown skin is shining with sweat, and his chest heaves with every breath. He’s getting tired, Keith realizes. It’s not like Keith isn’t getting tired too; but for him, this ache in his bones is as familiar as it is welcome. It lets him know that he’s still living, that he still has every reason to finish this. 

The boy swings again, his knife creating an arc through the air that completely misses Keith. Keith swings with his left hand, the one holding his knife. The boy dodges it, only to be hit on his pretty face with Keith’s right fist. The boy falls to the ground, and doesn’t get up. He’s won.

The bar watches him warily, smiles displayed wantonly on their faces. Keith stops to grab a mug of beer from one of the observers, and that’s when the boy makes his move. He charges at him, knocking both Keith and the customer to the ground. The customer quickly scurries back and out of the way of their squabble. The boy grabs Keith’s hair and slams his head into the ground, once, twice, before Keith elbows him hard enough to make him let go. He had planned to punch his stomach, but his balance is unsteady, and he ends up toppling them both back to the ground. 

The boy sneers. “I’m not gonna let you win.”

Keith doesn’t reply, at least, not verbally. 

He holds him by the collar, and punches him again, his fist hitting true in his stomach. It doesn’t slow the boy down for long, as he manages to push Keith off of him, and back onto the floor. He sees the boy pull back his fist, and tries to block his hit. 

It doesn’t come.

The boy’s weight is suddenly removed, and the image of his bloody fist replaced with a gloved hand. Keith looks up, and recognises the royal crest on his uniform. He accepts the stranger’s hand, and is pulled up to his feet. The boy is being restrained by the officer’s other hand, Keith notices, and although he’s glaring at him with a look that could kill, he doesn’t resist. 

“You shouldn’t be out here.” The officer says disapprovingly. He nods his head at the boy. “You can go. Don’t make me regret it.”

The boy pulls away, and rubs his arm woefully before dashing out of the doors, and back into the rabble of the city. The officer jerks his thumb towards the door. “We should start walking back, sire.”

Keith spits a blob of spit and blood onto the floor and starts walking. “I could’ve handled it myself.”

The officer frowns and follows him out of the bar. “I’m sure you could have, sire, but my purpose is to protect the royal family, which you are a part of.” He speaks the last part in a near whisper, and Keith is glad for his discretion. The last time that Keith’s identity had been found out while he was out in public, his father had forced him to stay in his suites for the better part of a month. While it hadn’t stopped him from sneaking out, it had hindered him and had made it much harder. 

Keith leads the way down main street. Merchants are packing up their stalls, and piling their wares into carts to be packed away until the next day. He knows what each one sells and which ones know his secret. These people, these are the ones he’d prefer to be around. They never treat him like glass, ready to break at a moment's notice. Here, he is equal. 

The officer trails behind him silently. 

“What’s your name?” Keith asks quietly. Perhaps he can bribe the guard into keeping this to himself. It wouldn’t be the only time that money has saved his ass.

He stands to full attention, garnering the curious looks of the townsfolk. “Takashi Shirogane, sire.”

“What do your friends call you?” 

It’s not something that Keith needs to know, or has any right to know, really. It was best not to tangle with those who served you; a well known fact, after his uncle’s affair with the maid servant had been outed to the whole castle. But still, Keith is curious as to if this upright and moral man is human enough to even have a nickname.

“Shiro, Sire.”

Keith leads them past the castle gates to the drainage canal behind the castle. No one ever thinks to secure it, as it looks almost identical to the sewage drain; who but a desperate man would try it?

“Don’t call me ‘Sire’.” Keith says between huffed breaths as he climbs beneath the gate. 

Shiro choses to climb over it rather than climb under, as Keith had. He arrives on the other side of the fence with a spotless uniform, while Keith’s clothes are muddied and ripped. “What should I address you as, S-” He cuts himself off with a small smile.

“Call me Keith.” He says as they enter the castle grounds.

OoOoOoOoO

His father rarely makes him come to dinner in the banquet hall. Most of the time, he stays in his suites; out of sight, out of mind. So, it certainly comes as a surprise when Shiro appears at his doorway, a message hovering on his lips, especially so since Shiro is not on his guard roster.

“Yes?” Keith prompts, when Shiro doesn’t say anything. His face is dusted with red that highlight the light silver of the scar running across his face.

“Your father requests your presence at dinner tonight, in approximately one hour.” Shiro says, his eyes fixed on some point behind him.

Keith closes the door. “Thanks.” He says, a little too late.

It’s only then that he realises that his shirt is unbuttoned, and his royal mark, a blue, thumb sized oval above his heart is visible. He closes his shirt, and then unbuttons it fully. He can’t wear peasant clothes to dinner. He sighs and gets dressed properly, before leaving his room. He almost runs into Shiro, who is still standing by the door.

“I am to accompany you to the dinner, S-” He pauses, then corrects his mistake. “Keith.”

Keith pulls at his stiff collar. It’s an annoyingly itchy outfit, and the stupid sleeves aren’t making it any better. He’d happily trade Shiro for his simple tunic and pants, even if they are several sizes too big. “Of course you are.” Keith mutters, straightening up. “My father wouldn’t trust me to walk down the hall by myself.”

“Or perhaps he is afraid of you getting lost.” Shiro replies wryly. Keith snorts. 

“Ah yes, that must be it.”

The dining hall’s door looms before them, a huge oak door tall enough for a giant to walk through easily. Keith can hear the quiet chatter of the servants behind it, and the booming voice of his father over them. Keith brushes his hair out of his face, and nods to the doormen, who pull open the doors. 

He walks across the hall to his seat, three to the left of his father, only to be told to move.

“Why?” Keith says, as he pushes his seat back in. 

His father smiles, and pats the seat next to him. It’s where his brother sits; as the heir to the throne, he gets the honor of sitting beside the king. “Tonight is your night, my son. While you may never rule, you still have every privilege as royalty, and with it, every responsibility.”

Keith sits down, and a servant pushes his chair in. “What does that mean?”

His father doesn’t answer, but instead chooses to take his seat. The grand doors open again, and the lords and ladies of the court stand and bow their heads. Shiro is lost in the crowd. Two women slowly make their way to the king’s table, their unnecessarily fluffy dresses bobbing with each step. Keith recognises the older woman; she’s the queen of one of their allied nations. His drops his gaze to the girl beside her. Her honey brown hair is pulled up, giving the illusion of short hair. Her dress is a pale green, that drips off of her thin shoulders like rain, ending in a skirt that seems to swallow her whole. He remembers her name: Katelyn, or more casually, Katie. 

Realization dawns on him. 

This isn’t just any dinner; he’s getting betrothed.

His father stands to welcome them. “We welcome you to our humble kingdom, Queen Honoria and Princess Katelyn. Please, take a seat and enjoy the festivities to celebrate the merging of our two kingdoms.”

The Queen nods and smiles cordially, taking the seat to the right of the King. Her daughter sits beside him, where his second brother would normally sit. 

“Hi.” The girl says quietly. “It’s nice to meet you, I guess.”

Keith sighs and crosses his arms. His father gives him a look, and he unfolds them. “It’s nice to meet you as well, Princess.” He keeps his gaze in front of him, and searches the peripheral of the room for Shiro. He spots him with the guards on the perimeter of the room.

“Pidge.”

“What?”

“Call me Pidge.” She repeats. “If we’re going to be getting married at some point, we should at least make the most of it. I don’t want this any more than you do.”

Keith relaxes a little. He hadn’t known her well enough to guess that she wouldn’t be the ‘give me a son, now’ kind of chick. His brother’s wife was like that, but then again, his brother actually liked doing the do with women. Inexplicably, his eyes drift back to Shiro. He’s laughing now, saying something to the guard beside him. “So, you won’t mind if we never make children?”

She scrunches up her nose. “I’d prefer it if we didn’t, and I know that you do too. You don’t like the company of the fairer sex.”

Keith starts. “How’d you know?”

She shrugs, and pokes at her chicken. “I don’t like guys like that either. And you keep looking at that guard over there, with the scar and the white hair.”

Keith looks at his plate, and hopes that no one can see the embarrassment on his cheeks. Was he really that obvious? It wasn’t like he was interested in the man; it was just, he was interesting. Shiro was probably how Keith would’ve been if he had’ve been born of a lower rank. It was something that Keith envied, being able to live your life without the scrutiny of the whole world.

Pidge laughs and takes another bite of her chicken. “Gotcha.”

OoOoOoOoOoO

They are set be married in a year, after the second siege of the Galra capital commences. Keith doesn’t mind it so much; at least he knows that it will be a marriage in name only, and that they might actually have a chance of being friends. What Keith does mind, is that his father is putting him on a tighter leash. No more fighting with commoners over stupid slights. No more sneaking out of the castle. Of course, his father knows that this will be impossible to enforce, which has led to this. 

Shiro trails behind him as Keith angrily stomps through his suites. Shiro follows him through each room, at first, but after they circle through them twice, he starts to lag. Keith can see the professionalism slowly melt away, as he trails his fingers over the fine silks that cover his bed, and the ornately carved chess pieces displayed haphazardly on his desk. At first he explores discreetly, when he thinks Keith isn’t watching, but he eventually notices that Keith doesn’t care. 

He reaches up and pulls a sword from display, and swings it experimentally, before noticing that Keith has moved on to the next room. He jogs and catches up. Keith turns, and pulls his sword from his sheath. “You don’t have to follow me everywhere, Shiro. It’s not like I can escape with you so close by.”

Shiro backs away. “Sorry.” He raises his sword. “I know that you can’t leave, and fight like you want to, but perhaps you’d like to try your best against someone actually trained in the ways of the sword?”

Keith turns and raises a brow. No matter who he had asked, the guards refused to fight him; harming a royal, no matter the circumstances was a death sentence. He wonders if Shiro knows. 

“Are you not afraid of being sentenced to death?”

Shiro lowers his sword. “Are you planning to kill me?”

“No.”

Shiro lifts his sword again. “Then, no. I feel safe in your swordfighting abilities and my own; neither of us will be injured enough for death to be required.”

Keith grins. “Great.”

OoOoOoOoO

Keith gets used to Shiro’s presence. He’s not as bad as others could of been, and even lets him out occasionally to experience the town (no fighting, outside of their own sword fights anyways). The date of his marriage is growing nearer, and with it, sentiments of war. The Galra empire is growing, and with it, the resistance is dying. The numerous guards that populate the castle are disappearing, and being sent to war. Many of them don’t return. 

It is one month from Keith’s wedding when Shiro is sent away. 

No one even bothers to tell Keith; he finds out himself, when he draws his sword and finds a note wrapped around the blade.

Keith,

I’ve been reassigned today. Your father himself chose with whom I will ride. Your bethrothed’s brother, who calls himself ‘Matt’ insisted on fighting, and while his mother has given in, he is not to fight without protection. They say that I know how to deal with a flighty and stubborn Prince. Perhaps I do. I will do my best to protect him; though it will be you that I fight for. I know that you are bad at understanding the subtle, but I must urge you to take this as you will. 

When I return, and I promise that I will, you will have been married to Princess Katelyn. I do hope that you get along well, and that you will trust me to protect your family as I have protected you. 

I will think of you, when I am in low moral and I will write you, when there is a reprise in battle.

-Your knight, Shirogane

Keith’s first instinct is to crumple the paper, and toss it into the fire, but he knows that burning the words won’t make them any less true. He drops the note, and raise his sword. He doesn’t know what he attacked, not until the feathers stop flying around him, and he finds his sword immobile in the grasp of the thick curtains. 

“My Prince?” A voice asks hesitantly.

He turns and drops the sword to the ground with a clatter. In the doorway, Princess Katelyn stands, clutching a stack of books in her arms. 

“I should leave.” She says, backing away. He dashes across the room and grabs her arm.

“Stay. I was having a bad day. It’s not your fault, or your problem.”

Katie- sorry, Pidge- still looks like she wants to leave, but she lets him lead her through his bedroom to the second chamber. It holds another bed, one that is relatively untouched, as well as a desk, and a bookshelf of unread books.

He sits on the bed, and she sits beside him. They sit in silence for a moment, but as Pidge starts to open a book, he finds the words to say. “I heard your brother was sent to war.”

“He volunteered.” She mutters angrily. “He didn’t have to, but he volunteered anyways.”

“He has Shiro with him, at least.” Keith offers.

Pidge shakes her head. “Shiro may fight with Matt, but he’s fighting for you.”

Keith stands up in exasperation. The plush silk comforter slides lower on the bed. “He said the same damn thing! What is that even supposed to mean?”

Pidge stares at him like he’s an idiot. “You’re not good at understanding nuanced words, huh?” Keith doesn’t reply. She sighs and lays back on the bed, hands interlocked behind her head. “He likes you, dumbass. And you like him too.”

Keith sputters. “I-I’m not a homosexual.”

She shrugs. “I prefer female company, you prefer male. No big deal, considering that no one’s watching. My brother gets away with it all the time.”

Keith blanches. “He does?”

Pidge sits up. “And you can too. It’s not like I’m gonna stop you.”

He blames Pidge for what happened after. After all, he had never thought about Shiro before, at least not in that way. He had never imagined what it feel like to knot his fingers in Shiro’s hair, and to be pushed against a wall, hands eventually forced over his head as they press their mouths together in a messy attempt at a kiss. Keith blushes and tries to forget.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Shiro returns from war after their marriage. Pidge sleeps in her own bed, and Keith sleeps in his. Her lady-in-waiting often shares her bed, and it is rare that they are separated, except for when they are required to give the illusion of a happily married couple. Keith doesn’t mind; he likes Pidge as a friend who can actually deal with his rebellious nature. 

Keith isn’t told about Shiro; he finds out on his own, when he meets Shiro in the halls. 

“Excuse me.” Shiro mumbles, not meeting Keith’s eyes. He tries to walk past, but Keith catches his arm and stops him. Except his arm isn’t right.

Keith drops it, and Shiro looks up, shame evident in the way he looks at him. “Shiro, I-I didn’t know you were back.”

“I came back yesterday, sire.” He pulls his sleeve lower over his arm, the one that felt strange. “They demoted me after Matt went missing. Their kingdom has no male heirs now.”

“Does Pidge know?” Keith asks. Pidge had been close to him, that much he knew. It would devastate her to know that he was missing, and most likely dead.

Shiro shakes his head. “Her mother ordered me to tell her. I was on my way there now.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Keith says.

Shiro nods, but doesn’t say anything in reply. Keith respects that; Shiro had always known when to shut up, and Keith had eventually learned when to do the same for him. But as they reached the threshold of Keith’s chambers, Keith frowned. “Do you still feel the same now, as you did when you wrote that letter?”

Shiro doesn’t look at him as he pushes the door open. “That’s irrelevant. You’re married.”

Keith doesn’t have a chance to say anything else, as Shiro strides towards Pidge’s room. The candles are still burning, even though it’s late, and a collection of books are spread out on the comforter. She barely glances up as they enter, and doesn’t acknowledge them except to send her lady away. As the door closes behind her, Pidge closes her book, her finger stuck between it’s pages to hold her place.

“Did you finally decide to tell him?” She asks Keith with a mischievous grin.

Shiro doesn’t react beyond a small smile, which quickly disappears as Keith replies. “I tried to. I guess I’m not the only one who’s not good at understanding the nuanced. But that’s not why I brought him here.” Keith turns to Shiro.

He steps forward, and kneels beside her bed. Pidge looks mildly concerned; she had attempted to get rid of that submissive behavior in her staff. “Your brother is missing, my lady. I was assigned to be his guard, but we were separated after we were captured. The last time that I saw him was before I was sent into the Arena.” He looks up for the first time, and meets her faltering gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Shiro barely has time to catch her as she tumbles to the ground. Keith can do nothing but watch as she sobs, tears staining Shiro’s shirt. As she clutches at his shirt, his sleeve rides up, and Keith realises what was wrong earlier.

His arm, one that used to hold the hilt of a sword as they fought across his bedroom, one that he had imagined holding him close for the most part of the past six months, is no longer there. It’s been replaced with a strange contraption. It’s metal is smooth, except for where it is welded, and he can hear it now; It’s ticking. His wrist and elbow are covered in panels that slide as Pidge lifts his hand.

“They did this to you?” She sniffs.

Shiro nods. “I lost my arm in the Arena. They gave me this as a replacement.”

Pidge pulls away, and her dress is wrinkled. “My mother wants me to sentence you to death. She wants me to blame you.”

Keith flowers. How dare she attempt to kill his guard, who was stolen from him in the first place, to fight in a war that wasn’t even his. Pidge notices Keith’s look, and continues. “I’m not. It’s not your fault.” She looks at Keith, a soft smile on her face. Her eyes are red and puffy, and he wonders if she will ever get over him. “You two should enjoy it while it lasts. Don’t waste time playing around, okay?”

Keith nods, and hugs her. He can’t help but feel how small she is, how little there is of her. He pulls away, and leaves, Shiro following him back into his own room. He tries to head for the door, and Keith doesn’t try to stop him. “I love you, okay?”

Shiro stops, but doesn’t turn around. “You have a wife.”

“And she has a Lady-in-waiting! We’re not exactly trying to produce an heir here!” Keith yells. 

Shiro closes the door and turns around, his arms crossed. “You’re a Prince. I’m a soldier, a mere guard who failed to protect another Prince.”

“Like hell if I care. No, wait. I’m your Prince, your superior.” Keith starts. He’s unsure if Shiro will even care that he’s pulling rank. “I order you to stay, to talk about this at least.”

Shiro doesn’t respond, and it only makes Keith angrier. He’s been waiting for Shiro for so long, has only seen him in his dreams, only heard his voice through the few letters that he sent before he disappeared. He’s not going to let Shiro throw this away over something as stupid as their status. 

“Please.” He says, his voice breaking.

Shiro turns the lock, and steps over the scattered books and clothing on the floor. He presses one hand to the small of Keith’s back, the other grasping his face. And then the moment that he had been dreaming of ever since he left happened. Shiro leans in, and their lips meet. Shiro feels hot, Keith thinks, like fire on his lips. And then it changes, becomes more feral and less sweet. 

Keith’s hands gradually move, from being pressed against his chest, to his shoulders, and then to his hair, to get knotted and tangled in. Shiro moans in surprise, and Keith pulls again, and again until they break away, panting for breath. The brief reprise ends quickly, as Keith pulls him to the bed. Shiro has him pinned beneath his weight, but Keith isn’t crushed by it. It’s comforting, he thinks, as Shiro nips at his throat. Keith tangles his fingers in his hair again, and pulls Shiro’s lips back to Keith’s. 

Suddenly, the door slams, surprising the both of them. They both turn, to find the door to Pidge’s room shut tight. Keith hadn’t realised that they had left it open. He blushes as Pidge calls through the door. “At least close the door before going at each other like dogs in heat!”

Shiro opens his mouth to say something, but instead devolves into laughter. Keith presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Sure thing.”


	23. Lance: Phobia

Phobia: an intense fear

If there was one thing that they all had in common, it was that they each knew fear, just like one knows the rhythm of their heartbeat. It had become a constant companion after becoming the Paladins of Voltron, and had stayed by their sides throughout their time in space. Sometimes it was almost ignorable. Sometimes it was all-consuming. No matter what, it was always there. Lurking in the peripheral of the mind, waiting for the perfect time to consume the mind.

OoOoOoOoOoO

“Wait!” Someone called, as Lance slid under the falling rock. Too late. 

The other Paladins were stuck outside of the cave, and Lance was stuck inside, with four droids and a heavily injured Pidge. They stare at each other, neither side moving. And then Lance raises his gun and fires. The first one fall to the ground before the others raise their guns. A perfect headshot. The second one aims and fires, laser missing Lance as he ducks to the floor. He fires, hitting the droid as it aims again. His hand spasms as his brain circuits are fried, and another laser flies at him. He doesn’t move out of the way fast enough, and the laser hits his shoulder. 

Lance doesn’t have time to feel the burn of it, as the third droid aims at him. Pidge lifts her bayard, and shoots, knocking the droid off balance. His gun fires at the ceiling instead of at Lance, and he takes the opportunity to fire. This droid seems to be smarter than the previous droids, as he lays flat, allowing the laser fire to go right over his head rather than staying still. Lance fires again, but it’s a little late. The droid fires a volley of shots, most of them going wild, but two of them hitting his chest and right arm. Lance’s aim is true, and the droid falls silent, a sporting a new hole in it’s head.

Lance drops his gun, chest heaving as he tries to calm down. The adrenaline is fading, and he can feel the burns on his body. It feels like the armor has melted with it, and onto his skin. He tries to ignore it, and stands up, using the wall as a crutch as he crosses to Pidge. 

Her injuries are far worse. The gap that allows her ankle free movement has also allowed a clean shot to her ankle. Lance is pretty sure that he can see the bone. Her neck has a thick cut on the side of it, but it doesn’t appear to be bleeding too badly, so he assumes it isn’t life threatening. The main injury is right below her heart. The armor was either torn, or pulled away, revealing pale skin underneath. Dark, black bruises color it, tell-taling the internal bleeding that she has procured. 

Lance hears voices through his helmet, which finally breaks through the sound of his heart pounding in his head. “...you guys alright? Answer me!” Keith’s voice is frantic, and Lance wonders how much that they’ve heard, and how long they’ve been listening.

“We’re fine.” Lance says, weariness obvious in his voice, even through his joking tone. “I saved the day, once again.”

Keith sighs in relief. “Alright. We’re working on a way in. Hold tight and stay away from the entrance.”

“Will do.” 

He sits down beside Pidge and watches her. While her eyes are still open, she seems like she’s in a daze, and he’s unsure if she’s got a concussion or not. The caved in entrance is shaking, rocks tumbling to the ground, and Lance figures that they don’t have too long before they are rescued. He slips his hand into Pidge’s, and tries not to worry about how cold it feels.”

The cave bursts open a few minutes later, Hunk leading the others in, blaster aimed and ready to fire. He scans the room, and puts his bayard away once he realises that the only ones left were Pidge and Lance. Keith and Allura are behind him, a floating stretcher trailing after her like a dog on a leash. 

“Oh thank god.” Keith says under his breath, probably thinking that Lance is too out of it to hear it. He probably looks worse than he feels, if that’s possible. “I don’t think they’re both going to fit on the stretcher.”

Lance sits up, wincing when he moves his torso to much. “My legs are fine; I can walk.”

Hunk glances back at him worriedly as he and Allura lift Pidge onto the stretcher. “Yeah, uh, I don’t think so.” He secures Pidge onto the gurney before turning to Lance.

Lance presses against the wall, and slides up it until he can stay steady on his feet. “I’m fine, see?”

Allura stops pushing Pidge away just long enough to bark back at them. “If he can walk, help him back to the lions. We don’t have the time to argue.”

Hunk sighs and mutters about stubborn Cuban boys as he lifts Lance’s uninjured arm over his shoulder. His other side is left dangling, both arm and shoulder burnt and immobile. Keith doesn’t know what to do; obviously he can’t support him from the other side, so he walks beside them and watches them warily, in case someone trips or faints. 

The walk to the lions isn’t that far, Lance reasons. There’s no way that they parked them far away, especially after Pidge had had to escape by foot. Blue is probably with them now, parked safely within the other lions reach. Still, each step jostles his wounds, and causes another ripple of pain to wash through his body. By the time Lance can see Blue’s paw, he’s trying his best not to wheeze. He’s sure that Hunk is noticing how his body further slumps against his, relying on his support to keep him upright. Keith can’t decide if he wants to walk in front of or behind the two of them, so he settles for walking beside him, eyes flittering to Lance every once in awhile without comment. Hunk helps him into his pilot’s seat, and Lance settles into the comfortable familiarity of Blue’s cockpit.

“Are you sure you’re good? Allura can always tow your lion back, and you can ride with me.” Hunk suggests. 

Lance shakes his head, and turns towards the dashboard. “Nah, I’m good. It’s just a few burns. I’m pretty sure I’ve had worse when I tried to make a fried klemon with your homemade turkey baster.” He jokes lightly, his joke falling flat. Hunk hesitates at the door, but leaves without another word, leaving Lance in silence. 

It’s as he stares at the two-hand handle that he realizes that he may have needed a little help. How the hell was he supposed to pilot with only one hand? His lion rumbles at him, and emotion floods over the bond. worry/Ihelp/guide/yousleep His lion takes off, and he lifts his good hand from the steering wheel. Lance trusts that Blue will guide him back safely and allows himself to close his eyes, just until he gets to the castle. 

When he opens his eyes again, Hunk is leaning over him, trying to get him out of the pilot’s seat. Lance somehow managed to curl up on himself, legs lifted over the edge of the chair, his injured arm dangling beside him. 

“I got it.” He yawns, sliding into a sitting position.

Hunk sits up. “Okay. I’m still helping you walk though.”

“There’s no escaping the attention of the formidable Hunk once you get started, huh?”

“Nope.” Hunk replies, lifting his uninjured arm over his shoulder. Outside, the Hangar is empty. Allura must’ve brought Pidge to the med-bay already, Lance thinks, because another stretcher is waiting for him by the exit of his lion. 

Lance opens his mouth to protest, but closes it when he sees Hunk’s expression; it distinctly tells him to shut the frick up and to sit on the damn stretcher already. Lance concedes with a sigh, and sits down. Hunk frowns when he refuses to lay down, but doesn’t bother to force the issue; he’s known Lance long enough to know that when Lance is being stubborn, there is no changing his mind. He pulls the gurney through the halls without talking, and doesn’t stop until they reach the cryo-pods. 

Lance hadn’t thought about it, not until they came into view. Pods, tight and restricting, only one filled stand before him. Lance scoots back on the stretcher. “I’m good, Hunk.”

“What?” He asks, most of his attention focused on pulling a healing pod suit from the shelf, and a pair of scissors to cut his uniform away with. 

“I’m not going in the healing pod.” 

Hunk looks up from the drawer, and looks at Lance. Lance grips the stretcher with his good hand, the metal cutting into his palm. He’s not going back in there. Not after last time.

Hunk sets the suit and scissors down on the stretcher. “Hey, hey. It’s alright Lance. But you do need to take off the armor, okay?”

Lance isn’t sure what to think of Hunk. Will he still try to force him into the healing pod? Hunk slowly unbuckles his armor, peeling off the pieces not currently adhered to his body, and setting them down beside him. Lance relaxes a little, but doesn’t take his eyes off of the pods. The room feels smaller with them out there; they take up more space than they should. Lance doesn’t move until Hunk tries to cut away the black undersuit around the burns. Luckily for them, the armor melted into the fabric, which kept the material from fusing with his skin, but allowed the heat to go through it. The fabric itself is warped, indented slightly into the wound. Hunk looks up apologetically.

“I’m gonna have to get Keith to help me with this one. Sorry, Lance.”

Lance nods, and Hunk leaves to retrieve Keith. 

He can’t stop thinking about the pods. About how trapped you are inside of them, with nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. The world revolves around you and continues moving on, and you’re completely oblivious. Even though he knows that it’s impossible, Lance can’t help but think of dying there, unable to do anything about it. No way is he getting inside one of those. Especially not now, with his non-life threatening wounds.

He hears footsteps outside the door; they must be coming back. Lance turns around to say hello, or to shoot a witty joke at them, but stops himself when he sees what Keith is carrying: Pidge’s bayard. It crackles with electricity as he steps closer. 

“We don’t have the time for you to wait and heal up naturally, Lance, and we can’t form Voltron without you.”

“I’m not getting in the pod.” Lance asserts. There’s no way that he’s getting in there voluntarily. 

Hunk stands in the doorway, blocking his exit. Keith stands before him, and Lance knows that he wouldn’t even make it halfway to the door with Keith blocking him; even if he weren’t injured, Lance has nowhere near as skilled at short distance battle. 

“You have to.” Keith says softly. 

Lance shakes his head again, opens his mouth to say no, but Keith doesn’t give him the chance. The bayard meets his skin, and his body slackens.

Hunk watches him worriedly for a moment, until he’s sure that Lance won’t be resisting. “Come on. We have to hurry if we want him in there before he wakes up.” Keith insists, cutting through another piece of fabric. Hunk joins him, cutting away from the wound on his chest. Lance can barely feel it, besides a slight tug on his skin. What he can feel is absolute panic. If he wasn’t already immobilized, he’d be frozen to the spot. The open pod gapes at him, mocking him. Too scared, it says, I’ll never let you go. 

Soon, Lance is stripped and in a healing suit. It doesn’t even take Hunk that much effort to lift his prone body into the pod. As the door closes, Lance makes a final attempt to stop them. He raises his good hand and presses it against the door. “I don’t...wanna.” He croaks.

Hunk doesn’t meet his eyes as he knocks his hand down and closes the door.


	24. Phobia: Keith

When Lance wakes up, there’s a few breathless moments where he can’t move. Outside of the door, Keith is pacing the perimeter of the room. Hunk is sitting against the wall, head tilted against the frame, and fast asleep. Lance wants to open his mouth, to tell Hunk how mad he is at him for this, but he still can’t move. Is something wrong? Is he stuck in here, with his mind awake and eyes open, but unable to move for another week?

He can’t feel his chest, but he knows that his breath is hitching, and not enough air is coming into his lungs to cope with his panic. His head is swimming, and oh god, he’s gonna die in here, isn’t he? He doesn’t want to die, not in a small, little box, unable to move, not like this. He wants to go out in a blaze of glory, and cojeme, he can’t believe his friends are just sitting there, unaware that he’s fucking dying!

Then his body slowly starts to regain feeling, first in his fingers and toes, and then spreading to his arms, and torso and face. It’s slow, like defrosting ground beef, but he’s finally able to move enough to raise a hand to the door and push it away.

He falls out of the pod to the ground, and breathes, his lungs finally able to take in sufficient air. Hunk startles awake by the door, and Keith stops his path to walk over, but lance barely notices them. All he can think about is that he’s finally breathing again.

After a while, he calms down, and notices other things, like how his wounds still tingle, and how Hunk is muttering apologies and how Keith is stroking his back in awkward, uneven strokes.

He sits up, and knocks Keith’s hand away. “I told you that I didn’t want to go in there.” He hisses through clenched teeth.

Keith steps back and crosses his arms, the worry on his face replaced by annoyance. “Did you really want to form Voltron with three wounds? Even if we could’ve let you heal naturally, you would’ve slowed us down.” More than you already do. Lance adds on.

“Doesn’t matter. I said no.” Lance’s stomach growls, aching from being empty for so long. He still feels somewhat weak, but stands up anyways, refusing to use the walls or anything for that matter, as support.

Hunk watches him nervously, but doesn’t offer any help. “Sorry.” He mutters again, and Lance acknowledges him with a nod.

It takes too much effort to be mad at Hunk for long. He’s too sweet, too kind to stay mad at for long. Keith, on the other hand, is a different story.

He doesn’t say anything to him as Lance walks away, anger lingering, even as he cracks a few jokes about food goo and laser guns.

OoOoOoO

Keith is scared of bugs.

Lance realizes this almost as soon as they start walking. The sound of exoskeletons crunching beneath their feet is a constant accompaniment as they trek deeper into the caves. Their lions are too big to fit inside, and their speeders draw too much attention. Allura had said something else about disturbing the wildlife too, so even though both Lance and Hunk had complained, they had decided to walk.

It was dark in the cave, and moss hung from the ceiling like bodies hanging from a noose; it gave the illusion that this was all just a haunted house attraction, which kinda made it a little less scary. For him at least.

Keith winces at every crunch, and keels his eyes focused straight ahead. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t run ahead, and chooses to hang back between Allura and Pidge, who lead the group.

Lance ghosts his fingers on the nape of his neck, and he shivers, slapping at it feverishly.

“Fucking bugs.” He mutters. Lance snickers. “What?”

“The big, bad Keith is afraid of a few bugs.” Lance teases. Bugs were simply a part of life; Lance was used to finding a roach or two around the house, or a millipede walking up the outside door.

Keith flicks him off and picks up his pace, joining Allura and Pidge in the front of their little posse. It doesn’t take long to reach the center of the tunnel, which opens up into a large cavern. The Galra look almost like ants, from how high up they are, and Lance can barely tell what they’re doing. Luckily, Pidge had brought her binoculars, and between her and Allura, they quickly decipher what’s going on. Lance zones out. It’s really not all that interesting to him; he just needs to be told where to shoot, so instead, he focuses on Keith.

He’s crouching near the entrance, not leaning on anything. Lance can’t imagine that it’s a comfortable position to stay in, even briefly. His eyes are shut, and his hands shake ever so slightly. A few of the bugs are actually alive, and more than a few scurry over the walls and their shoes. Lance doesn’t notice them; he can’t feel them, and mostly only hears them, a soft pitter-patter on the plastic.

A trail of the roach-like creatures walks over Keith’s shoe.

Lance watches as the red paladin freezes and then goes into an absolute frenzy.

He falls back onto his hands as he kicks the bug off if his shoe. Crushed bug juice stains his palm and he shrieks, lifting it from the ground. He loses his balance again, and falls onto his back.

“Get ‘em off, get ‘em off, get ‘em off!” He shrieks, flailing his arms and legs as he attempts to get up. Pidge watches the Galra below nervously as Allura attempts to hold him still.

“Calm down.” She hisses, as she forces him to be still. Lance is ninety percent sure that he’s gonna have bruises later; Allura is so much stronger than them, but is rarely aware of her strength.

Her words do little to calm him, and if anything, only seem to aggravate him more. One of his kicks makes its mark, and hit her squarely in the stomach. She keels over and releases him from her hold.

Keith’s started hyperventilating, and Lance knows that if he keeps this up, the Galra are going to find their position. Not to mention, having an anxiety attack isn’t all that fun either.

Lance brushes Allura aside and lifts Keith off of the ground. It’s not at all an easy feat because of all of his frantic movements, but Lance manages to hold him.

Keith stops resisting once he realizes that the bugs are no longer touching him. His breathing does not steady, but it’s still a marked improvement.

“The bugs are gone.” Lance says, eyes trained on Keith’s. “We’re not in the cave right now, alright? Let’s play pretend.”

Keith nods, and his eyes finally leave the scurrying walls to meet Lance’s.

“Good. Good. Okay, so imagine that we’re in the forest. And it’s fall, yeah, and all the leaves are falling.” Lance’s grip starts to slip. He hopes that Keith will calm down enough to let Lance put him down. “So, when you put your feet down, you hear them crunch underneath you. And when you fall, some of the rotting leaves are a little wet.” Lance continues as he lowers his feet to the ground. Keith doesn’t shriek or resist, so he takes it as a confirmation to keep going. “But you don’t mind, because it’s fall and everything smells like change and I’m right there beside you, and everything’s alright.”

Keith leans against Lance as he takes a few deep breaths, and then nods. “Thanks. I’m good now.”

Allura shoots Lance a grateful look, and they hurry to complete their mission.

A few days later, the high of battle finally wears off. They each leave their self-imposed solitude, and become social creatures once again. Or at least, as social as Keith can possibly be.

Keith doesn’t say hello as he sits down on the lounge couch. He stares determinedly at the tv screen, which is showing some Altean space opera. After a while, Lance ignores him and continues reading his new comic, recently acquired from the earth store in the spacemall. He turns the page and reads anxiously as Captain Magnificent is pounded repeatedly with the hammer of justice.

“I’m sorry.” Keith says suddenly.

Lance looks up from his comic, his finger between the pages to hold his place. “What?”

“I’m sorry for forcing you into the pod. If it was anything like the bugs we were for me,” He hesitates, moves his eyes from the screen to meet Lance’s. For once, his eyes don’t seem angry. They look like an apology. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Lance says, and he’s surprised to find that he means it.

Keith nods, and turns back to the cheesy space opera. They’ve reached a certain kind of truce, and although Lance won’t easily forget, he’s not mad at him anymore.


	25. Shallura: Pregnancy

She wonders if the child will have her ears, or Shiro’s.

It shouldn’t matter, she’ll love the kid either way, but she wants to see some of Altea in her child; the only place she ever sees it is in the mirror. Even if their child has her eye markings, or pointed ears, those traits will disappear in a few generations, lost in the genetic mix, unlikely to be unearthed again. All that’s left of her people is in three people. 

She shakes her head, and Shiro watches her curiously. 

It’s not true. She has the Castle, the Lions, Voltron’s legacy. Still. She’d like to see her child with pretty, pointed ears, and subtle markings under their eyes, just like a purebred Altean.

OoOoOoOoO

Shiro isn’t afraid to be a father.

Shiro is very afraid of being a dad. 

See, that’s the thing. Any man can impregnate a woman, and boom, instant father, but not just any man can be a dad. A dad is someone who you’ll miss when he’s gone, someone who you want to grow up to be like. A dad is someone that Shiro isn’t sure he can be. 

Shiro doesn’t even have a dad. His moms were awesome parents, but even so, he knew all the same that being a father was slightly different. Can he do that? He isn’t sure.

OoOoOoOoOoO

“Allura,” Shiro mumbles, voice thick from sleep. He rolls over and pats the area where she lays, and finds the bed warm but empty. He sits up, suddenly wide awake. “Allura?”

No reply.

He slides out of bed, ignoring the black lion slippers that Lance had made him as a wedding gift, and opens the door to the hall. It’s empty, but it’s not hard to tell where Allura has gone. 

He finds her on the holodeck, since repaired. Fields of juniberries spread out around her, and she sits in the middle of them, hand resting gently on her stomach.

“How am I supposed to show Altea to you? How will you ever know who you are?” She whispers, and as Shiro gets closer, he can see tears running down her face.

“Hey.” He says, resting his hand on her shoulder. She turns around, and wipes the tears from under her eyes. She looks up and wraps her hand into his, pulling him down beside her.

They sit in silence, and listen to the sound of the wind running through the flowers, and brushing the leaves. 

Allura sighs, a soft sound like a heartbeat, barely perceptible. “Do you think we’ll be good parents?”

“I think so.” 

Allura leans into his side, soft, white hair bunching up on his chest. “What is this child going to call home? My planet is gone, and yours- yours is millions of lightyears away. And we still have a war to fight.”

Shiro kisses her forehead and whispers into her hair. “We’ll be their home.”

“But how-”

He interrupts her with a kiss on her cheekbone, and then trails down to her mouth. He knows her just as well as he knows himself. Whereas she can be headstrong, and independent, she also has a tendency to overthink, and overanalyze, letting her emotions get the best of her. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Let’s raise this kid as it comes, because no matter what, we know they’ll turn out alright.”

She nods, and her face settles into a content smile. They stay there until Allura falls asleep, and the juniberries disappear, and then he carries her back to their bed. He doesn’t know how their kid will end up or how they’ll look, or even their gender, but he does know that they’ll turn out just fine. He’s content to have all those other unknowns, as long as he knows that.


	26. Pidgance: a/b/o

Pidge had said that she was a Beta when she filled out that form for the Garrison. She hadn’t presented yet, so it was the only choice. Just like all of the Beta’s enlisted in the Garrison, she was issued a kit of emergency suppressants. She had kept it with her, she knew it would stupid not to, but she had never used any on anyone.

She might have to use one on herself. 

It wasn't a bad assumption that she’d really end up a Beta. She had never been as aggressive as an Alpha, or as nice and caring as an Omega was. Her mother and father had been Betas too. Although she hadn't known her grandparents, she didn't recall any Alphas being in her family lineage. But even she could see the signs.

Unwarranted aggression

Last week at breakfast, Pidge had gotten mad at Shiro over something completely stupid: him patting Lance on the shoulder. She had growled, growled at him. She had blushed and said it was a cough, but she could still feel Shiro’s overbearing scent fill the room in response. 

2\. Scent sensitivity

Even though it was a pleasant, almost pine-like scent, and one that she had grown used to over those years of training before Kerberos, and then again from their time together in space, it had made her feel sick, and she had wanted nothing more than to leave the room to escape it. She had managed to finish her meal before escaping to her room, but his scent had lingered, until she and Lance had their daily video game session. 

3\. Increased arousal near Omegas

Lance had always had that faint, somewhat sweet scent. Her sense of smell had been too weak to pick up on the finer details of it, but even so, she had known that it smelled like sugar. But as he sat next to her, attempting to pass her simulated Ferrari, she caught a good sniff.

He smelled like cinnamon and sugar, like warm cinnamon rolls fresh from that mall store. Her stomach clenched, and her car crashed into the side railing, allowing Lance to pass by her. “Ha!” He said, leaning into her lap to block her view. Rather than leaning out to the side, and steering away, she stayed still, and took another deep breath. Her underwear felt too tight on her pelvis, and suddenly, it seemed like a really good idea to tell Lance about the crush that she had on him.

That was when she had gotten worried about the signs. She’d excused herself before the match was over, much to Lance’s confusion, and disappeared into her room, only leaving for meals and training for the next day. 

She really couldn’t tell if she was an Alpha without the help of Lance’s intoxicating scent. Sure, Keith was an Omega too, but he was claimed by Shiro, so he didn’t have much of an effect or a smell; he smelled just like Shiro, only slightly sweeter, like someone had doused a pine tree in vanilla. She’d considered asking Hunk if she smelled any different, but that would give her away, wouldn’t it? She wasn’t really ready to tell anyone, but they’d find out soon enough if she didn’t do anything about her scent. Which left her with the kit.

There were only ten suppressants per dynamic, five for Alphas and five for Omegas. The kit also holds four condoms, two of which are heavy duty, and a knockout pill, made for extreme emergencies. If she really was an Alpha, and that’s what it seemed like, she’d need to start taking a small dose of suppressants to help make her presentation go smoothly. If she was back on Earth, she’d be taking some meant especially for newly presenting Alpha’s, and it would happen so slowly and seamlessly, the others in her pack would easily be able to get used to it and their group dynamic wouldn’t be disrupted. But even if she managed to divide the suppressants into the correct doses and took them sparingly, it would still be very obvious that she was changing because of her behavior, and would probably disrupt the pack’s cohesiveness. 

Still, it would be better than just waking up one day, her scent suddenly overbearing and strong whereas it used to be almost nonexistent, and having to deal with readjusting her placement in the pack. Pidge sighs and pulls a pill from it’s container. If each pill is five milligrams, and her weight is one hundred and twelve, the best dose would be-

Someone knocks on her door, and the noise startles her. The pill drops to the floor, and for a moment, she can’t find the oblong tablet. The lights in her room are off, and the only illumination is from her laptop. It’s not nearly enough for her to see the pill, but the light switch is by the door. She bites her lip. The knocking continues persistently. If she leaves the pill there, what are the chances that it’ll be found by whoever’s knocking?

“Dude, I know you’re in there. I’ve been out here for like, an hour.” Lance calls through the door. 

Not very high.

Wait, why was he out there so long? That was something more like what she’d do; her crush on Lance had manifested in making her overthink their interactions way too much. Lance had always been the more impulsive type (not as impulsive as Keith though. She didn’t think anyone could be more impulsive than that.)

She shoves the kit back under her bed, and places her laptop on the bed. Lance always complains that she’s wasting a perfectly good desk by always sitting on the floor, but she prefers to feel the ground beneath her than the chair. It reminds her of all of those nights of hiding in the closet so her parents wouldn’t catch her on her computer after bedtime.

“Coming.” She grumbles as she crosses the room, tripping over a box of spare parts. She turns on the lights, and forces her eyes to adjust before opening the door.

Lance is leaning on the opposite wall, skin flushed. His hair sticks to his face, and his eyes seem unfocused. Even without smelling him, Pidge can tell that he’s going into heat. The thought prompts her to take a deep breath, and then his scent hits her like a truck. For a moment, all she can think of is the image of Lance, curled underneath her, a mewl escaping from him bared throat. She shakes her head and stands back, holding her breath as he passes her. 

Pidge closes the door, and watches as he climbs onto her bed. He smells so sweet, too sweet, as if she’s standing in a candy store. It makes her feel hungry, hungry in a way that’s all at once familiar and completely foreign. She wants something (she knows what it is, but she refuses to say it.) It scares her; is this what it feels like to be an Alpha? Always on the edge of exploding, of losing yourself? She focuses on Lance’s eyes, and forces herself to say something, anything.

“You look like shit.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Well, duh. Why’d you think I came to you?”

Pidge locks the door, and carefully walks back to her bed. As she gets closer, she only feels worse, like she’s been out in the heat all day and is on the verge of fainting. So sitting next to him on the bed is out. She glances at the desk, across from the foot of the bed. It’s about four feet away. Close enough to not be rude, but far enough away so that his scent won’t be as intoxicating as it is now; she won’t be able to hold a conversation if she feels drunk.

She grabs her laptop off of the bed, and drops into the chair, the computer clutched in her lap like a safety blanket. 

Pidge shrugs. “I dunno. Why did you?” 

Lance pulls her pillows from the head of her bed to the center, and pulls the blankets in close. He pauses and gestures to himself dramatically. “I'm about to go in heat, and do you really think I want to go walking around smelling like this?”

Pidge frowns. Although the smell is admittedly distracting, Pidge doesn’t want it to go away. It's comforting, she thinks, and reminds her of days spent in the mall cafeteria, playing computer games and hiding from mall security. What she does want is to mark him, to cover him in her scent, and let everyone know that he’s hers. 

“That still doesn't answer my question. Get to the point.” She snaps.

Lance’s playful attitude disappears, and he hunkers down further in his makeshift nest. “I need to use your suppressors. Hunk ran out and he hasn't figured out how to synthesize more yet.”

For a moment, she wonders if she’s been given away by her tone; Lance had given into her request, or rather, her order just like he would give in to Shiro’s. But he doesn't seem to look twice at her, and doesn't say anything about how she spoke to him. 

“Alright.” She relents, sliding off of her chair. She tries her best not to think about his scent as she lays flat on the ground and reaches under the bed. She the sharp corner of the kit scratches her palm and she pulls it out and into her lap. Lance watches her lazily from his perch on her bed as she opens the container and pulls out the pills.

“One's missing.” He points out, and Pidge realizes that the spot where the second Alpha suppressant sat is empty. 

She rips the package in half and gives him the Omega half.

“Here.” She thrusts the package into his face. He takes it from her gingerly and sticks it into his jacket pocket. 

“Did Shiro take one or something?” Lance asks, not moving from his makeshift nest. Pidge sighs. She was hoping that he would've left after she handed over the pills, giving her time to deal with the awkward tension in her pants. For an Omega, Lance is horrible at reading the mood. 

She shakes her head. “I dropped it somewhere.”

Pidge is getting used to his scent, she thinks. She doesn't feel as distant anymore, and she can avoid thinking of Lance lying beneath her, submissively baring his throat to her if she really tries. Maybe she can hold out for a bit longer. 

Lance points at the floor, and she looks down, only to find the lost pill sitting obviously by the end of the bed where she was previously sitting. Damn it. “I can see that, but why’s it even out? Betas don't need-” Lance cuts himself off and moves closer to the edge of the bed that she leans upon. He takes a precarious sniff, and leans back, away from her head. “You're not a Beta.”

Pidge curls her fingers into her palms, nails digging into her skin like little mosquitos biting. If she had taken the pill just a little bit earlier, if she hadn’t hesitated, if she hadn'tve dropped it, Lance would have never known. She freezes. f Lance can smell it, the others would soon be able to. She’s running out of time.

“I-I didn't know until yesterday. I was trying to figure it out when you came in. I mean, I thought I wasn't going to present. I mean, come on, my whole family’s either Betas or Omegas, and I mean, I'm almost eighteen. Most people present around fifteen, and-” She realizes that she is rambling, and closes her mouth. She probably made it worse that it already was.

Lance snorts. “Well, I’d imagine being isolated hasn’t helped either. And you’ve got all that radiation to factor in. It took Keith another year out here for him to fully present, remember? And he’s like, two years older than you.” He flops backwards into the bed, covers sticking to his moist skin.

Right. He had come to her because he was going into heat. She could help with that. 

Her face went red. Not that kind of help. More like, the caregiving, watching over him kind of help. It was obvious by how he was craving heat, even though he was burning up, that he wouldn't be able to handle this on his own. Of course, the other kind of help would end his heat a lot faster, and it wasn't like she was going to object if he asked. Not that he would. Lance was forward, but would never try and flirt with someone like her.

Lance raises a brow at her flushed expression and sudden silence. “Dude, I promise it's not gonna change anything between us. You should probably tell Shiro beforehand so you don't catch him by surprise.”

Pidge nods. She probably should tell the others right away, so that Allura can adjust her secondary gender, and Hunk can help her synthesize something to make her presentation go more smoothly as soon as possible. But first, she needs to go ahead and ask Lance, before his heat gets too bad. 

“So, do you need any help?” Lance stares at her, his pretty face twisted in confusion. “With your heat.” She clarifies.

Lance blushes, heat rushing to his face, and his scent glands releasing more pheromones into the air. 

“Like I normally do, I mean. Keeping you from overheating, providing food…” She trails off. 

Lance sits up, brushing away the assorted pillows and blankets. “Are you sure that's a good idea?”

Pidge feels a flare of anger. “Are you doubting me? I'm your friend, Lance!” 

Lance folds into himself, a low and angry whine escaping from his throat, as he bares it to her in submission. Pidge turns away. “Sorry.” She mutters. She hadn't meant to inflict her dominance on him, especially over such a small thing; she hated Alphas who did that to others in order to get their way. There were way too many of them at the Garrison, and she never wanted to be like them. How could she do that to Lance? 

“I'm gonna go.” Lance says, sliding off of the bed. He disappears out of her door before she can say anything. Not that she really knew what to say anyways, she thinks dejectedly.

OoOoOoO

“So, you're an Alpha?” Allura says, leaning her head forward so that Pidge can reach the strands of hair hanging loosely in the front. 

Pidge nods, and starts twisting her hair, and pulling them back to meet in the back of her head, where her left hand holds the other strands to keep them from unwinding. It’s intricate and time consuming, and that’s why Pidge like to do it with Allura; Allura wears it for a while afterwards, and everytime she sees it, she remembers the times like this one, where they can pretend that all they have to worry about are crushes and awkward conversations rather than saving the galaxy from a genocidal war lord. “Lance submitted to me. I wasn't even trying to. It just came out, and now I can't stop thinking about it.”

“But you apologized, did you not?” 

Pidge nods. “Yeah. But Lance has barely looked at me since then, and we haven’t played video games together in like, a week.” 

Allura looks back at her, the movement displacing her hair and uncovering the scent glands on her neck, allowing more of the scent to escape into the room. Pidge is still getting used to her stronger sense of smell. Whereas the only person she used to really notice was Shiro, now she can smell everyone clearly. Allura doesn't smell like anything in particular. Not spicy, and strong, like an Alpha, or sweet and warm like an Omega, or even pleasantly neutral like a Beta. She’s in-between genders and it’s helping Pidge keep her new instincts in check by hanging around her.

Allura is a Delta, a secondary gender specific to Alteans, whose shape shifting ability allows her to change in order to fit in better. She can change between an Alpha, Beta or an Omega, depending on what the circumstance called for. Since their dynamic is changing, she isn't sure where she fit in yet, which means Allura still treats her like normal.

“He just has to get used to you. You smell different, and with his heat coming on, even with the suppressors, he’s bound to be nervous around new Alphas. Give it time.”

Pidge pulls another twist back to the growing bunch. Her interest is piqued. She hadn’t even considered her own scent. “What do I smell like?”

Allura pauses, and taps her finger on her chin. “Like… spices on a hot stove. Like, juniberries, almost.”

Pidge has no idea what the hell Juniberries smell like, but she’s pretty sure she’ll find out eventually what it’s similar to. She wraps a rubber band around the bunch, and lets go. The style settles, and Pidge has to admit, she did a pretty good job on it.

“Have you told Shiro?” Allura asks, holding up a hand mirror to admire the complicated hairstyle. 

Pidge shakes her head. “No, I was gonna do it after I talked to Lance, but I lost my nerve after...what I did.”

Allura raises a brow and pulls her off of the bed to sit beside her on the floor. It’s just as plush as the Altean blankets that rest on the bed. “You do realize that letting him suddenly smell your scent one day isn’t a good idea for someone as...for someone like him?”

Pidge nods, her face hot at the implied admonishment; beneath her embarrassment is the stirrings of anger, something that’s been happening a lot lately.

“He might not recognise you, and you could get hurt.” Allure continues. She pauses, gives Pidge a chance to respond, but she stays quiet.What’s she supposed to say when Allura is right and Pidge doesn’t actually have a logical reason for not telling him? “I’ll tell him if you don’t.”

“No.” Pidge growls, and Allura flinches. Damn it! She did it again. Pidge lowers her eyes. “Sorry.”

Allura waves her apology away with a hint of a smile tugging on her lips. “It’s to be expected, Pidge. I promise, it’s fine. But you really should tell him; you know me well enough to know that I follow through with my threats.”

Pidge sighs. She knows that logically, it’s the best thing to do. She may be an Alpha, but Shiro is their Alpha, the one who runs the pack. If she waits too long, it’ll just make a bigger mess of things. After all, Shiro is essentially a brother to her; he’ll accept her no matter what. “Alright. I’ll tell him.” She meets Allura’s imploring gaze. “But on my terms.”

OoOoOoOoOoO

Shiro follows a strict schedule. He always has, for as long as she's known him. Even back on Earth, during those days when Kerberos was just a distant dream, Shiro kept to a strict schedule. Dinner with the Holts on Tuesdays and Thursdays, always at six, never later. And just like clockwork, Shiro does the same thing here. 

Shiro meditates from seven in the morning until seven fifty-five, when he’ll head down to the dining room to eat. Barely anyone is awake at that time, and those who are stay to themselves. It’s the perfect time for Pidge to get him alone and to herself.

“Shiro?” Pidge calls tentatively from the doorway. 

Shiro opens his eyes, and his body tenses. His head snaps to her, and for a moment, he looks like he can’t see her. She can smell his aggression, a need to protect himself, and his territory; like metal, hot from being left in the sun. She feels herself tense, and a growl hitches in her throat. He's a threat, one that is an immediate concern and her instinct is to fight him, but that’ll only make things worse. She bares her neck in submission, a gesture she knows well enough, and then his gaze clears. The act of submission feels wrong, and the urge to fight flares up again, but she forces it away, and waits for him to relax. His body slumps, as much as Shiro can slump anyways, and then his expression melts into confusion. 

“Pidge? What- what’s that-,” He pauses and clears his throat. “You smell different.” 

Pidge walks into the dojo styled room, stopping at the edge of the almost room sized mat to kick off her shoes before continuing to his side. She kneels opposite to him and takes a deep breath. But the dojo smells like him, and it doesn’t do anything to calm her. Pidge still feels that lingering need to defend and fight, combating with the urge to submit to her superior.

“I thought I was a Beta, I mean, it was a safe guess with my family history. But I just started presenting, like just in the past few weeks and I'm ninety percent sure that I’m an Alpha. No, scratch that. I’m an Alpha.” She pauses, both to take a breath and to gauge his expression. Shiro doesn't seem perturbed, but rather, still confused. She continues. “So, I, uh, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, and I wanted to let you know that I'm trying my best to make this change as least disruptive as it can be.”

Shiro nods, and stands, offering her a hand. She accepts it, and they leave the mat to put on their shoes again. It must be seven fifty-five by now. “I'm glad you told me.” He hesitates. “Do you mind if I smell you? I don't want to accidentally mix up your scent with an enemy’s, especially since you smell so different now.” 

“No problem.”

Shiro leans over and she bares her neck, allowing him better access to her neck gland. His breath tickles on her neck, and she shivers, prompting him to pull away. 

Shiro chuckles, and they start walking to the kitchen. “I used to think that you smelled like your brother, y’know, just a little less intense. Blueberries and nutmeg. But now, I think you smell more like curry. Lemon, and curry, actually.”

Pidge smiles. “Thanks, Shiro,”

OoOoOoOoO

Lance isn’t the type to ignore people, or avoid them, and within another day, he’s back to playing video games with her. 

His suppressors are only working marginally; they expired a long time ago, and do little more than lessen the scent of his heat. Pidge has gotten used to it; she’s smelled it all week. Lingering in his chair at the dinner table, or in the hangar or on his armor, hanging next to hers in the changing room. It doesn’t affect her as much as it had that first day, but she still feels it. It’s annoying, how being around him makes her underwear suddenly feel too tight, and restricting, how all she can think of is going back to her room and masturbating (she hates the word, but she hates the euphemisms for it more), when all she wants to do is to go back to normal, when she could ignore that she was attracted to him. She wants to tell him that she likes him, has liked him for a while now, but what kind of person does that to an Omega still in his heat? She doesn’t want to force herself onto him; if they are going to be together, she wants him to be fully consenting.

“Ha!” Lance elbows her as his character lunges at hers, knocking her off balance enough just long enough for him to make a hit. If he had the skills for it, that is. She dodges, and elbows him back, knocking him down into the collection of pillows and blankets that he’s dragged around them throughout their session. She’s unsure of where most of them originated from, but she can identify a few blankets from the storage closest among them.

“You thought!” She laughs, as she changes weapons, and stuns his character. It spasms and attempt to reach for it’s gun. She hits it with her melee, and coupled with the electrocution, it’s health bar soon reaches zero.

Lance groans, and lays flat on the cushions, his hands behind his head. “Ugh….not fair.”

“It’s your fault that you decided to fight dirty.” Pidge shrugs as she turns off the game system and places the controllers back into their cases. 

“Blasphemy!” He cries, flailing his arms and legs.

Their laughter dies out, and then the room is silent, except for the sound of their breathing, and the gentle thrum of the engine, a constant background when in space. 

Lance sits up, and his face is serious. “So, I’m pretty sure that you can smell it, but I’m gonna hit the middle of my heat soon. I mean, this whole thing’s only lasting like two weeks, and the suppressors helped me through most of last week, so that’s like, what, three? Bad days left. And, um, I was wondering if you would help me out with it?”

Pidge raises a brow. She had thought that her aggressive reaction to him last time would’ve deterred him from asking. This is honestly more surprising than the time when Coran actually made a good and edible meal. “Really?” She asks, hope audible in her voice. She’ll be damned if she doesn’t look just like a puppy begging for a treat.

Lance nods, a faint blush gracing the curve of his nose and cheeks. “You’re prettier to look at than Hunk is, and if I’m stuck in heat for a while, I’d rather be watched over by an angel than a mechanic.”

Did Lance just flirt with her? 

There’s no way, she thinks. He can’t like her back. It’s impossible.

She feels her own face grow hot in response. With her pale complexion, it’s unavoidable that she’s blushing like mad. “Thanks.”

OoOoOoOoOoO

“So does he like me, or what?” Pidge groans, draping herself over Hunk’s lap. He doesn’t look away from the card tower that he’s building. It’s already tall enough for him to work on it from the comfort of the bed. 

He places another triangle on top and lowers his hand for another set of cards. Pidge slaps them lazily into his hand. 

“Why not just ask him?”

Pige throws her hands up in exasperation, almost knocking Hunk’s arm into his tower. He glares at her and then carefully resumes the calibrated placement of his cards. “Because he asked me to help him with his heat, and if he doesn’t like me, it’ll be incredibly awkward if I actually do go into rut or something and y’know...” She trails off, and starts playing with her hair; It’s just barely long enough now for her to wear it in two pigtails, her usual style.

Hunk sighs. “Do you want me to ask him for you?”

Pidge grins. “Very much.”

“Fine,” Hunk concedes, placing a final card tent on top, finishing the grand card castle. He picks up a pillow and throws it at the intercom. It beeps and flashes red. “Call Lance.”

Pidge gapes at him as the system connects. “I didn’t mean-”

Hunk shushes her as Lance’s sleepy voice blares through the speakers. “Whaaat?” 

“Yo, Lance. Come down to my room. It’s a Code blue.”

“Coming.” Lance replies, his voice suddenly clear of sleep, and alert. The intercom beeps again, and the message ends.

“Come on!” Pidge whines, climbing out of Hunk’s lap. The traitor.

Hunk shrugs, and smiles mercilessly. “If you don’t want him to see you when he comes in, you better hide.”

Pidge slides off of the bed and searches the room. The desk? Too conspicuous. The closet? Too far away for her to hear anything. The bed? She lifts the bedcovers and peeks underneath. Unlike her bed, which hides a huge mass of stuff that she was too lazy to properly put away, Hunk’s is spotless. It’s a bit of a tight fit, but she manages to slide under, just before the door slides open. 

The movement disturbs Hunk’s card tower, which falls to the ground in a huge heap. She watches as Lance pushes the cards to the side and climbs onto the bed beside Hunk. 

“You got the beef?” Lance whispers conspiratorially.

Hunk doesn’t say anything, so she assumes that he’s nodding. 

Someone shifts on the bed above her, and the bottom of the bed presses down on her back. “What’s the price?” 

“Do you like Pidge?” Hunk asks bluntly. If Pidge could move her arms freely, she’d facepalm. Why the hell did he think that it was a good idea to be so straightforward about it? What if Lance figured out that Pidge was the one that asked Hunk to ask? Oh, quiznak. This was a bad idea.

And then Lance breaks the silence. 

“Dude. Is it that obvious?”

Hunk laughs, and the whole bed frame shakes with it. “It kinda is. I mean, you flirt with her all the time.”

“But I flirt with everybody!” Lance protests. 

“Yeah, but you actually get flustered when you flirt with her. But the real question is, if she gave you the option of ‘helping’ you through your heat, would you turn her down?” Hunk questions, sliding off the bed to pile together his cards. He offers Pidge a small smile as she holds out a few cards that ended up under the bed.

“True. And, duh, of course not!” Lance says, sliding to the floor beside him. Hunk moves to block his view of under his bed as Lance starts piling cards together. “Now what’s your beef?”

“Shay wants me to come visit overnight.”

“Really?” Lance says, disappointment obvious in his downcast tone. She’d be disappointed too, if Hunk considered that worthy of a confession. 

“Alone,” Hunk specifies. “And she’s got her own place now, so, uh, there’ll be no one else around.”

Lance starts to chortle. “Someone’s gonna get lucky.”

Hunk snorts. “You could too, if you’d just say something.”

It doesn’t take long for them to finish gathering the cards, and then Lance returns to his bed, leaving Pidge and Hunk alone. She slides out from under the bed, and dusts herself off.

“Happy now?” Hunk asks, arms crossed, and an amused smile plastered on his face.

“Very.” 

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Keith snorts periodically as she recounts the whole ordeal, talking over the untranslated Altean soap operas that play unnoticed on the vid-screen.

“You got any tips?”

He pauses in flipping through his comic, a dog-eared page pressed between his fingers as he attempts to straighten it. “Why’re you asking me? Can’t you ask Shiro or something for advice?”

Pidge shrugs and flips to another movie, this one an animation with a style similar to the one prominently used on Earth, at least, while she was back on Earth. “You’re an omega. You got wooed by Shiro while in heat, and I can’t imagine you made it easy-”

“Hey!” He protests, tossing a pillow at her head. 

She tilts her head to the side, and it misses her, flying to the side to bounce off of the lamp harmlessly. “So, he must’ve done something right.”

Keith rolls his eyes and turns the page. She catches a glimpse of a naked dude, and she’s pretty sure that the cover page depicting a superhero is intentionally misleading. “Look, he’s gonna want sex cause all of that emergency suppressor use is catching up with him. Just follow your instincts, and it’ll be fine.” He turns the page back once, then flips back to the current page. “Oh, and as long as you aren’t too aggressive, he’ll love it. He has a thing for dom chicks.”

Pidge still has the shame to blush; even though their culture is very sex positive, it’s still kinda embarrassing to talk about with friends. Especially since just about everyone but Lance knows about her plans. They’ve been making it kinda obvious with their commentary at dinner and in the halls when they pass by each other. She’s only been saved from talking about it prematurely because of Lance’s obliviousness.

“Thanks,” She manages, just as she turns the channel again. This time, it pauses on a scene where three humanoid figures are intertwined. Their lewd moans and suggestive positioning ensure that her face is even more red than before.

OoOoOoOoO

The next day, Pidge reports to his room at ten o’clock sharp, as she’s done so many times before. This time feels different. Before, it was just a job, something that she did to help out her friend. Even after she started liking him, she’d been able to maintain that veneer of professionalism. But now, two variables have changed. One, she’s an Alpha now. Two, she knows that he likes her back.

She’s not scared of losing control or anything; Pidge has been in rut for awhile now, ever since she caught that first whiff of his heat, and she’s been able to handle it on her own (which has resulted in way too much time alone, in her room). She knows that she won’t go crazy, or hurt him, but she is scared that she’ll mess this up somehow. What if he doesn’t like those things that Keith told her? What if he thinks she’s weird because she offered? 

Pidge raises her hand to knock, and then the door opens, leaving her standing there like an idiot. The room stinks of Lance, like his room is a freaking bakery. It makes her head swim, for just a moment. Then she blinks, and realizes that she’s still holding her hand up. She drops it to her side awkwardly, and Lance laughs, nervousness audible in his tone and his scent, like his cinnamon rolls have gotten soggy.

“Welcome to my lair.” Lance says, stepping aside to let her pass. The door slides shut behind her, and Lance retreats back to his nest. It’s a mess of covers on his bed, with several pillows stolen from the lounge, and at least one from her room tangled in them. His clothes are in piles on the floor, and she can see empty pill containers on the bedside table.

“It’s a mess.” Pidge waits until Lance beckons her into his nest before sitting down gingerly on top of the blankets. “But so is my room, so I can’t exactly complain.”

Lance offers her a smile, and then his face contorts, and he keels over, clutching his stomach. A low moan escapes from between his lips, and his breath comes out in tense huffs. 

Pidge isn’t sure what to do. Normally, his heat just required her to give him food and water periodically, and make sure that he didn’t actually hurt himself in his state of heightened arousal. He’d never been in pain before, not like this. Hypothetically, it could be attributed to his overuse of suppressors, especially since the ones that he’s been using are meant for emergency one time use. Shit. He must’ve been hiding this for a while now, since he ran out of suppressors at least a day ago.

“Are… are you okay?” She asks, hand hesitating above his back. She pats him comfortingly, and then decides to rub instead.

Lance sits up, his eyes shut tight. “I-It hurts. My sister, Maria told me that it’s kinda like cramps. She also said I should be able to man up and deal with them, so I can’t say if she’s right.” As his grip around his stomach loosens, his other hand rests over his crotch, partially hiding it from view. It doesn’t do much.Even from where she’s sitting beside him, she can see the hard-on that he’s sporting; it’s not like his boxers do much to conceal it. 

“How long have you been hard?” She asks, her voice almost clinical. Were omegas built to sustain such long erection lengths? She remembers from those Viagra commercials that past four hours, it gets dangerous.

Lance groans again, struggling to stay upright as another cramp rocks through him. Pidge hasn’t had to deal with a cramp since...since a while ago, she supposes. Her period stopped some time ago, long enough away that she can’t specify the date. Still, the pain of cramps is a familiar one, and she doesn’t hesitate to wrap him a hug. It comforts her, to feel him curled within her reach, head pressed against her chest; it must be something of a comfort to him as well, as his body relaxes somewhat, and he leans in closer. “If it’s been more than four hours, it’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, and? My hands hurt, and it’s not like you can do anything about it.” 

Pidge pulls away and stuffs her hands into her pockets. She tries to bite down that rising feeling of shame. There is nothing shameful about two almost adults doing the do. Even if one of them is in heat. Especially if one of them is in heat. As long as they both consent, it’s okay.

“I could, um… do sex with you. Cause you’re in pain and stuff.” She manages to get the words out without choking on them. She’s pretty sure her face is as red as Keith’s jacket, because how the hell do you keep a straight face on while offering to do sexual things with your crush?

Lance’s head snaps up so fast, it looks like he should’ve snapped it. Sweat has plastered his hair to his forehead, and even with the dim lighting, his skin shines. “What?”

“I...um.” Pidge clears her throat. She used to being meek, reserved, but those traits feel weird, almost wrong to exemplify. Maybe she just has to do what Keith said, and let her secondary gender guide her. It can’t hurt, she thinks as she focuses on the symptoms of her rut. She can feel the swell of want rising up in her chest, and the now familiar ache of her underwear pressing against her. “I like you. A lot. And if I can do anything to help make this easier for you, I will. I’m offering to help you out, Lance.”

Lance’s face was already flushed, and it can’t do much to get darker, but it still manages to portray his confusion. Still, a wary smile spreads across his face, as his eyes search hers. “You do realise that you’re offering to have sex with me, right? You haven’t been brainswished or anything?”

Pidge rolls her eyes and kicks off her shoes. “Any other boy would’ve said yes by now and we’d be getting on with it.”

Lance grins. “Well then, yes. Do you need that in writing? Perhaps an audio recording before we move on?”

“Shut up.” She growls, crawling into his lap. The fabric of his shorts scrunches up as she presses her mouth to his, her knee pressing lightly against his side. Their noses press against one another until they figure out which way to tilt their heads. It takes her a moment to get used to the feeling that, damn, she’s kissing Lance. He tastes like dessert, she thinks as she guides his mouth open further. She hasn’t kissed anyone before, not beyond a few sloppy ones spurned on by truth or dare, but she was pretty sure that this wasn’t the type of kiss that they showed in the movies. This is too feral, and yet, too sweet at the same time. She traces his teeth with her tongue, and Lance pulls back to suck on her lip. 

The tension in her pants is only growing worse, so she pulls back, and turns around, taking residence on his lap as she pulls her cargo shorts off. She can feel his dick pressing onto her ass, can feel the way he moves his hips back and forth to create friction through the thin fabric of his briefs. It hits her; Pidge is really doing this. She’s doing the same damn thing that led Shiro to Keith, that started their nearly six year old relationship. It kind of scares her; will their relationship be shaped by this single encounter? She’s pulled out of her anxious thoughts by Lance, as he presses a gentle kiss to the side of neck. It leaves her skin burning, and leaves her even more feverish than before; whereas she had had reservations, they all melt away. She wants this. Lance does too. 

“We still don’t match.” Lance says, tugging on her shirt. “And that’s a little unfair, don’t cha think?”

Pidge snorts, and raises her arms to allow him to lift it off, which he promptly throws it across the room to be lost in the sea of discarded laundry. She turns around, resuming her position facing him, but Lance is still. 

His eyes don’t stray from her chest, where her small cleavage is held up by a bra, plain, black and functional. She can practically see him drooling, like a cartoon character. She reaches behind her back and unclasps the hook. “We’re going all the way, dude. What’cha waiting for? A written invitation?” She drops the bra on the floor behind them, and when she turns back, Lance’s mouth latches onto her nipple. It feels weird at first, to have him suck on it, explore it with his tongue and graze it with his teeth, and then she feels that tightening in her stomach, and Pidge doesn’t mind it so much when he switches to the left. 

Her pussy is aching worse than before, and that clenched feeling in her stomach isn’t going away. She can feel him between her thighs, where her legs meet and her underwear rubs against her frustratingly. Pidge pushes Lance down into his nest, his mouth tightening around her nipple as he falls, before letting go. She presses another kiss to the scent gland just below his ear, and then another below that, and then another. Each kiss is slowly devolving into kissing and nipping, until Lance mewls, pressing his hips upwards to create some needed friction between his dick and her clit. She breaks away, gasping and then rolls to the side to pull her underwear off. 

She’s tired of the waiting. Plain and simple, she needs to bang him.

She tosses the offending article across the room, where it lands beside the door. Lance is panting on the bed, beads of sweat running down the side of his face to dampen the sheets behind him. A low whine escapes his throat, a pout on his face as she rips his boxers, instead of tugging them off as she had originally planned to. Oops. 

She tosses the shredded fabric to the ground behind her. Lance starts to sit up, but she pushes him back to the sheets. “No.” She growls, forcing him to straighten his leg. “Stay down.”

Pidge rests, her core pressing down on his thigh, and wraps her hand around his dick, the other pressing against his hole, which is slippery with slick. She grinds against his thigh, toned from all those years of training, and shaven smooth during his daily beauty schedules, her hands jerking and spasming as her clit rubs against him. Suddenly, he tenses beneath her, and her hand is suddenly wet. She tenses a moment later, her thighs clenching around his, leaving her chest heaving. The clenching in her stomach returns only a few seconds later, and she knows that Lance probably feels the same, if not more intense. 

Lance whines again, and she slides off of his thigh. She stands awkwardly on the pile of clothes by the side of the bed, before another wave of his scent is released. It’s sweeter, sharper, and it drives her just as crazy as his scent did in the very beginning, when she had no immunity to it’s sweet call. 

“You ready?” Pidge confirms as she climbs onto his lap.

Lance nods, his face flushed. “Hurry up already.”

She lines up her entrance to his cock, and slams down. It only stings for a moment, and then the tightening in her stomach lessens, and she feels less like she’s an overtightened coil. Pleasure rocks through her body, and her core tenses around him. Lance is huffing beneath her, angling his pelvis so that she can take more. Once she gets used to the feeling, she rises, hovering on his very tip before slamming back down again. He whines, and tries to rise again, but she pushes him down, her palms sticking to his smooth chest, damp with sweat. 

There’s faint tan lines, faded and almost invisible. They outline a tank top, and then short sleeves and finally long sleeves, darkest around his wrist. His skin is so pretty, she thinks. He’s probably never had to suffer through sunburns like she has, or that horrid acne stage. And then she can’t think anymore, because her movements are pulling her closer, closer to the point of no return. Her next slam down onto him strikes something deep inside her, and it clenches around the head of his dick, refusing to let go. She tenses, her sex gripping him, squeezing him, unable to release. She feels him release inside of her, a strange warm feeling like opening your legs in the bath, only this goes so much deeper. It only takes a second squeeze around him for her to come, waves of pleasure like none she’s ever experienced before overcoming her. When she comes back down, she realizes that they’re stuck. 

Whatever inside her is clenching is holding on tight, and occasionally still spasms around him, prompting him to release again. The feeling isn’t as weird as it was before, and she wonders briefly if he’s actually fertile. It’s not like she’s gonna get pregnant; she lost her fertility before she started to present, but Omegas are iffy. Some males can impregnate others, some can’t. 

Lance’s voice startles her out of her thoughts. “So...how long are we gonna be stuck like this?”

Pidge tries to pull off, but it only causes her to clench down harder. Lance stifles a groan. “Uh, I dunno actually. I never really looked into female Alpha biology before, and I haven’t had a database to look through either. How long does a male Alpha’s last?”

Lance groans, and facepalms, the sound of skin hitting skin causing her to jolt up. “Up to an hour.”

Pidge sighs. “Great. What happens if an alarm goes off?”

Lance shrugs. “No Voltron, I guess.”

So Pidge sits there, on Lance’s lap, her pussy locked around his dick, and they wait.

“So...uh, how was it?”

Pidge snorts. “If you’re trying to get me to tell you how big your dick is, that’s not gonna happen.”

Lance shrugs, blankets moving with his shoulders; the nest is in complete disarray, and so are they. Lance’s hair is flat and messed up, and she can feel the pigtail in her hair coming loose. Her thighs ache, like she’s been working out, and she wonders if Shiro will exempt her from training tomorrow.

“No, but really. That was your first time, I mean, it was mine too, with a girl at least, so I’m curious.” Lance grins, his white teeth a sharp contrast to the brown of his skin and the flush on his cheeks. “Was it good?”

Pidge starts to shrug, and then she pauses. Lance has self-confidence issues. Lying about something so raw, and integral could really hurt him. “It was good.” She says quietly. 

Lance’s face brightens, and she feels herself tighten again. “Good.” He repeats.”It was really good.”

OoOoOoOoOoO

It takes them nearly an hour and a half to separate, and another half hour before they get to the shower. Lance keeps intercepting her attempts to retrieve her clothing, blaming her waist, and chest for being so damn distracting. She herself is distracted by the way his chest tapers down to meet his waist, and by the way his hair sticks to his eyelashes. It’s evident by the time they reach the warm spray of the shower that Lance’s heat is going away. His core temperature is lowering, and his erection doesn’t return. With the disappearance of his heat, her rut leaves her, taking with it the sudden aggression and need to fuck. 

Pidge welcomes the warmth of the water; her body is sore in a way that’s all at once familiar and a stranger. Her limbs feel loose, and she feels strangely calm and happy. Is this what they call afterglow? Lance pulls a bottle of something Altean from the shower rack and pours it onto her head. She jumps from the sudden cold, and turns to glare at him. He turns her back to facing the faucet and starts running his hands through her hair.

“Come on,” He teases. “You know you like it.” 

She can practically hear him winking. 

But it’s true. It feels nice to have someone run their fingers through her hair. It’s not like she really does much with it, other than comb shampoo over it. “Fine.” She grumbles. “It feels nice.”

“Just like my dick.” 

Pidge may be short, and her unexpected strength boost cause by her rut may have disappeared, but she’s done enough training to land a hit on him and that’s exactly what she does. She elbows him in the stomach, and he struggles to hide his grunt of pain.

“Just because we got together doesn’t mean I can’t beat your ass. Or hack your room to lock you out of it.” She warns.

Lance snorts. “I won’t forget. Hell, that’s one of the reasons why I like you so much.”

They settle into a comfortable silence as he finishes her hair. She turns around and wraps her arms around his waist. The pitter-patter of the shower fades away as she presses her ear to his chest. She can feel him breathing, can hear the subtle beat of his heart.

“So, are we really gonna do this?” Pidge asks. 

“Have a relationship?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to?” Lance asks. She pulls back, and returns to the warm spray. One of his perfectly kept eyebrows is raised almost comically high.

“Yeah. Do you?”

“Yeah. A lot actually.” A light blush returns to color his cheeks, and Pidge can’t help but think that he looks cute when he’s flustered.

“Then it’s settled. How ‘bout I take you out for a night on the town, next planet we get to? We can have a real date.” He suggests, pulling two washcloths from the shelf. He hands one to her, a dollop of soap in the middle of it.

“I’d love that.” She replies with a smile. Maybe her being an alpha isn’t so bad of a change after all.


	27. Pidgance: Fort building

The hardest part about building a castle out of pillows was figuring out how to get inside without knocking the whole thing down. Now, the thing was, Pidge had taken a few courses on engineering, and quite a bit of it was helpful in architecture (fight him, because castle building was a legitimate form of architecture and nothing anyone could say would change his mind about it.), so they knew that it would hold up pretty well. But they had scaled the darn thing wrong, and the entrance was smaller than the hole in his socks that Pidge had attempted to sew a few weeks back.

“Maybe you could wiggle in,” Pidge suggested, head tilted as she throws her armful of blankets to the ground. “And then I could come in after?”

Lance shakes his head. “Nah. There’s a high risk of knocking it all down. Maybe we could build it back up while we’re inside?”

Pidge shrugs, and drapes a fluffy yellow blanket over the the structure, hiding the mass of mix-matching pillows that compose it. “We can try.”

Lance grins, the silent challenge accepted. Of course, he could manage. After all, he was the king of their castle; there was no challenge that he couldn’t best. He drops to his hands and knees, and starts crawling into the cushions. His back hits the cushions first, so he lowers himself, and relies on his arms to pull himself the rest of the way in. He forgets how low the cushions are, and his head knocks against the cushion too, hitting one loose.

From underneath the cushion, he can hear Pidge laughing. “Told you so.”

He tosses it at her, the pillow falling harmlessly to her side. “Minimum damage. Let’s see you do better.”

Pidge tosses him the remote, and squirms by him before he can say another word. “Done.”

Lance gapes at her, although he really shouldn'tve been surprised with her size and all, before pulling her into his side. “Does that mean you get to pick the movie?”

“Yes. Yes, it does.” She replies, a smug grin undoubtedly spread across her face. Lance tucks his chin over the top of her head, the gentle pressure a comforting feeling.

“Fine,” He says, releasing the remote into her lap. “Can I at least pick the genre?”

Pidge deliberates, scooting further back into Lance’s arms. He stretched his legs out for a moment, until his legs meet the back wall. The pillows shift, and he pulls them in again, hoping that Pidge didn’t notice. “Considering that your idea of a good movie is one filled with explosions and hot girls, no.”

“Another science fiction flick?” He groans melodramatically. She always picks the Sci-fi movies, even when they’re cheesier than Sharknado 4.

“Yup.” She says, cheerfully.

“You should be glad I love you,” Lance grumbles as the tv flickers on. He shifts, pulling a dangling blanket out of the way of the tv. It resists, so he pulls harder. “If you were anyone else, I’d-”

Before he can finish, their carefully constructed castle collapses, covering them in a mess of pillows and blankets. “I’m not rebuilding this,” Pidge says, tilting her head back to give Lance an amused smile.

“Just put the movie on.”

She snorts, but doesn’t reply. Even if their castle is now rubble, they’re both content to enjoy being close together, doing something so mundane, it’s almost as if they could be at home. He can’t really complain, not with Pidge in his arms (not just because she’s cute; that girl can still pack a mean punch.), and a comfy stack of pillows around them.

He still ends up getting freaked out at the alien knockoff of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, much to Pidge’s amusement.


	28. Chapter 28

Warning: Slightly gory description, but it’s not too in detail. OoOoO before and after description   
565 words

It’s not uncommon for Keith to wake up to an empty bed. It’s not surprising when he finds Shiro in the closet, or bathroom, eyes focused on another time and another place. What is surprising, is that Shiro is sleeping soundly. Keith, on the other hand, hadn’t been able to sleep ever since he laid down on their bed, even though he had felt like he was about to drop before they’d come back.

Normally, watching Shiro sleep was something that required vigilance. He knew how to read the furrow of his brow, the intensity of his breathing, and the small sounds that he’d never make when he was awake, but they were all so minute and hard to notice, Keith would have to watch him carefully. Not that he minded watching his chest lift and fall with every breath, or his shirt slowly ride up to reveal his waist. It was peaceful, something that Keith rarely got to experience anymore.

But tonight, it appeared that all was going well. Shiro was sleeping, and no nightmares interrupted that. So neither would Keith.

The events of the day were weighing heavily on him, and he wanted to talk, to feel the comfort that Shiro’s words could provide, but he refused to wake Shiro up. He’d just stay awake until Shiro woke up, and then they could talk. But the more he sat there, the more those images kept returning to him.

OoOoOo

A mother, clutching a child, both burned to the extent that only their bones were intact. 

The split corpse of something humanoid, it’s body flayed open and emptied.

And of course, the infants, dead, scattered like grains of rice across the storage bin where they had been kept.

OoOoOo  
And they had come too late to help. Nearly a thousand people had died, because they had been late. 

Keith knew that logically, it was no one’s fault. The moon that circled the planet had interfered with the transmission, causing them to receive it nearly five vargas late. Still, Keith wants someone to blame, and all that’s there is himself. Maybe if he hadn’t insisted on staying longer on the last planet, or had fought harder, they could’ve saved at least a single soul.

But they hadn’t.

A gasp escapes from his lips as he struggles to not cry. Crying is noisy and loud and incredibly stupid, and Keith doesn’t like doing it. But it hurts to hold it in, so he sits up, tries to leave the bed so that the closet can muffle the noise, but a cold, metal hand grabs his wrist, preventing him from getting up.

“Wha’cha doin’” Shiro slurs, not yet fully awake.

“Just getting some water.” Keith says, his voice tight, and hitching on the ‘s’. 

Shiro is awake and alert by the time he finishes speaking. “Keith, what’s wrong?”

Keith turns back to him, sniffing. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.” Shiro pulls him into his lap, and into the gentle strength of his arms. He rests Keith’s head against his chest, and presses a kiss to the corner of his eye, brushing away tears harboring there. “You can tell me when you’re ready.”

Keith nods, and lets himself cry, tears staining the thin pajama shirt. “Thanks.” He replies, and he knows that he’ll be alright.


	29. Summer AU

(I got this idea after riding uphill two miles for a slushie. I felt like this is something Lance would do.)

Sweat drips from his hairline and into his eyes, and runs down his back like condensation on a wet glass. He still feels the stupid urge to swat, even though he knows that it’s not another gnat crawling under his shirt. The artificial breeze gently rippling his shirt does nothing the alleviate the heat. He could peddle faster, sure, but he’s still got another half mile uphill before they reach the gas station.

Sure, he could’ve stayed at home, and let Hunk make one out of their pooled resources, but he wanted a real slushie. One that’s too sweet, and melts in the bottom before you can drink it, with ice crystals that melt just as they meet your tongue. In the summer heat, a slushie like that was practically heaven. He could have the mango one, even though it tasted more like pineapple, or maybe he could mix the coconut with-

“Dude, watch-” Hunk starts, and Lance turns, only to miss the very thing that he had been warning him of. His front wheel divots into the pothole, and his handlebars swerve, nearly steering him into the street. He regains control of the bike, but he’s rolled back to flank Pidge because of the struggle. He offers a thumbs up and a smile, which only makes his handlebar swerve again.

Pidge rolls her eyes and continues pedaling, with occasional boosts from the engine she’d added to it a few summers ago. Personally, Lance thinks the extra weight isn’t worth it, but hey, if Pidge thinks it’s helpful, fine by him.

“Why couldn’t this wait until Matt got back from work?” Pidge huffs, each word an almost insurmountable effort; even Lance had gotten over trying to talk and peddle uphill, and they had been riding in silence for the past half hour because of it.

“Because I want a slushie now.” Lance says, as Hunk jogs to cross the distance between them. Hunk had abandoned the idea of pedaling, in favor of walking and dragging his bike along with him, like a toy dog on a string. The handlebars swerved on every pothole they crossed, as if trying to escape his sweaty grasp. “Besides, it’s right there! No point in turning back now.”

A square, red sign rises above the hill, fluorescent lights flickering weakly under the sharp rays of the sun. With renewed vigor, Lance pedals over the final slope and into the flat driveway. For the first time in nearly an hour, he can glide without effort. Behind him, Hunk is struggling to climb back onto his bike, and Pidge is keeping to her original speed. They park by the side of the building, kickstands scraping concrete as they slide off of the hard, leather seats.

His legs tingle as they walk into the gas station, air conditioning feeling like blizzard winds on their overheated skin. The sweat on his hairline dries almost instantly, and for a moment, he doesn’t want to move from the doorway. And then he remembers the whole reason why they came.  
Lance makes a beeline for the slushie machines, lined up in an orderly row. Neon colors swirl within them, the smell of sweetened syrup filling his nose.

“I’m getting watermelon.” Pidge says, grabbing the medium sized cup. She takes a few sips of water from the drink counter before filling it up. “So you guys need to pick different flavors.”

Lance grabs a cup, and is about to reach for the pineapple, when he realises that his pocket feels a little empty. He sticks his hand through the worn cotton, and his thumb sticks out the other side. He pulls the remaining change out and starts to count. Maybe if he’s lucky, he can afford to buy a kid’s cup for himself. Maybe he didn’t lose too much change.

But there’s only eight quarters and six dimes left when he counts it, just enough to buy two medium drinks. He sighs. He dragged his friends here with him on the promise that he’d buy; it’s only fair to let them have their slushies. If he’s lucky, maybe Hunk will make him one at home.

“What flavor are you getting?” Hunk asks, moving his cup to create the perfect cotton-candy swirl. He sticks a straw in it at an angle, giving the drink the appearance of something classy, versus a gas station ice drink.

Lance shrugs. “I dropped some of my money on the way here. I’m not getting one.”

Hunk and Pidge exchange a look, and then turn back to Lance. “We’ll just share. I mean, it’s not like they don’t have an abundance of straws here.” Pidge says, motioning to the forest of white covered straws in the display behind her. 

“Yeah, dude. You’re the one who wanted the slushie so bad. It’s only fair.”  
Lance opens his mouth to protest, only to close it as the sight of Pidge’s glare. “Okay.” He relents. “Let’s go pay.”

 

They eat their slushies in the shade of the small oak growing by the curb, passing around drinks as they converse, content to stay there until the lowering sun calls them back home.

OoOoOoOoO

Shiro didn’t like him being out so late on his own. Especially when he was chasing after cryptids. Keith usually respected what Shiro wanted. He’d do practically anything for him, but not this time. He’d found a really weird footprint that morning, and had been tracking it’s trail ever since. Keith was ninety percent sure that it was Mothman, or something related to him, and he wasn’t gonna let this chance go. Even if he was totally unprepared for night tracking. Even if he’d run into about three poison oak trees and was itching like crazy. 

Ahead of him, he could see the glow of a fire burning. It was either Mothman's fire, or that of regular humans. As much as he’d prefer it to be mothman, he doubted that he’d have a phone with a charge on it. 

He pushes through the brambles and kudzu and branches, and is almost through to the other side when he hears a shaky voice. “Who’s there?”

 

“Keith.” He says, pushing through the final barrier separating them. The vines and growth stick to him, and when he stands up, he’s covered in mud too.

“Stay back.” The boy warns, a log held in his hand like a bat. “I’m warning you.”

Keith pulls the vines off of him, and throws them to the ground. The mud is still on his shirt, but his face is visible now. “My name’s Keith. Can I borrow your phone?” It takes every ounce of self-control he has not to yell. Jeez. Isn’t it obvious that he’s human?

The boy blinks, brown skin changing colors with the flickering of the fire. “Uh, okay.”

The smaller one, who’s sitting on a log, a plastic bag separating their pants from the damp log, tosses the brown boy a phone. He offers it to Keith, and then pulls it back, a hanky thrusted in it’s place. “Clean your hands and face off first. You look like you’ve been rolling in the mud all day.”

Keith wipes the mud off with quick, angry movements slapping mud to the ground. “I’ve been chasing Mothman all day.”

The boy snorts, and offers him the phone once more. Keith takes it and dials Shiro’s number, the only one he knows by heart. It rings, dull noise a contrast to the call of the cicada that continues to sing from somewhere in the bushes. “Hello. Who is this?” 

“Hey Shiro. It’s Keith. I’m using, uh, a friends phone.” Keith replies. He doesn’t have any friends here, not so soon after their move; but it’s a lie that will keep Shiro from freaking out, so he goes with it.

“Right, and you’re doing what? Where are you and why didn’t you call sooner?” Shiro says, and Keith immediately feels bad for disobeying him; Shiro has a tendency to worry, especially after he came back from the war.

“I…uh…” His mind goes blank, and he doesn’t really know what to say. The brown boy takes the phone from his hand and holds it against his ear.

“Hey there, Shiro. I’m Keith’s friend, Lance. Sorry he didn’t call you sooner, but his phone died when we were out at the lake.”

Keith can hear Shiro’s tinny voice through the speaker. “I- uh, Hello, Lance. I’m afraid Keith hasn’t told me about you yet.”

“We met him this afternoon. He kinda stumbled into out camp, but we’ve adopted him now, so he’s stuck with us.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” Shiro asks, ever the stern one.

Keith sits down on an open log, and feels the dampness of rot seep through his pants. It doesn’t bother him; he’s already dirty. “Pidge,” Lance points at the smaller one, who tossed him the phone. “and Hunk.” He points at the big dude, with the stature of a football player. He offers Keith a kind smile.

Lance continues talking to Shiro, talking him out of his frenzy with the promise to get Keith home safely the next morning. Hunk whispers, “Leave the mud on the poison oak; it’ll help with the itching.”

Keith nods, and sits there awkwardly until Lance is done. “Did you seriously say that you adopted me?”

“Yup,” Lance replies happily, sitting back down between his two friends. Pidge takes the phone, and slips it into a ziplock bag before dropping it back into her bag.

“And then you invited me to your campfire.” 

“Yup.”

Keith snorts. “That’s ridiculous. I could be a mass murderer or something, and you just invited me to stay the night with you in a remote location.”

“But you’re not,” Pidge says, not looking up from her computer. “because you were looking for Mothman, and I highly doubt that a cryptid hunter is gonna be a mass murderer on the side.”

“And it’s not that remote.” Hunk adds. “My house is only a mile away.”

Keith settles into the log, and pulls a map from his backpack. “I must’ve followed the trail wrong then.” He mutters. “The footprints led this way, but-”

“You were seriously tracking Mothman?” Lance asks in surprise.

“Yeah. What of it?”

“Nothin’. That just seems kinda cool for a dude who got poison oak his first time in the woods.” Lance says, leaning into Hunk’s broad shoulders. “Maybe next time you could ask the locals for help.”

Keith’s cheeks burn under his lazy gaze. “Maybe I will.”

OoOoOoO

Keith doesn’t have a choice the next morning when Shiro finds their camp, determined to meet each of them face to face. Suddenly, his whole summer is intertwined with theirs, doing impossible things, like tracking aliens or simply stupid ones, like jumping off of Backman’s cliff naked. But as the gentle summer breeze turns into the brisk one of autumn, and the notion of school isn’t so far away, he finds that he didn’t mind it so much.

(Yeah, I got lazy. Tumblr deleted my progress twice.)


	30. Klance: Space nerd and Bad boy AU

Keith wasn’t his usual type.

Lance usually went for the straight A, ‘nice to meet you ma’am’, kind of guy. Y’know, the kind you don’t mind bringing back home, the safe kind. Not Keith.  
Keith had a reputation. 

He had been kicked out of the Garrison for ‘questionable behavior’, and let back in only because of the influence and position of his older brother. No one really knew what he did to get expelled, but there were rumors. One person had said that he’d beat a kid half to death. Another accused him of having a relationship with one of the instructors. Lance had even heard someone say, with full sincerity, that Keith had a drug-dealing ring going on at school.

So yeah. Not exactly the type of guy you want to bring home to meet your mother. 

But he was exactly the type of dude to catch and keep Lance’s eye. 

Currently, the mullet-head in question is ordering some food from the food trucks that line the parking lot. The field is covered in blankets and foldable chairs, with a tent or two between them. Lance had organized all of this to come watch the meteor shower that was happening later that night, and it gave him some pride to know that all these people were out here, watching the stars because of him. 

Keith steps away from the food truck, a corn dog held lazily between his fingers like a cigarette. He looks like he’s scanning the crowd, and Lance feels his heart drop; there’d be no point in fantasizing about coffee dates under starlit skies if he already had his eyes on someone. Keith’s gaze locks onto Lance, and he looks away, a blush dusting his cheekbones from being caught. He picks up his drink, and takes a sip, almost choking on it when Keith sits down on the blanket beside him.

“Hey.” Keith says, offering Lance a crooked smile.

Lance’s heart is pounding so loud, he knows that Keith can hear it. “Hi.” He manages to say, a beat too late. 

Keith takes a bite of his corndog, and offers Lance a bite. “Want some?”

Lance blushes and takes a bite. It tastes horrible; Keith didn’t put any condiments on it, and it’s very dry, but he smiles and says thanks anyways. He turns back to staring at the sky, but he can’t relax like he normally does when he’s out under the stars with Keith beside him. 

“You. Me. Saturday?”

Lance turns back to Keith, whose normally pale skin is now flushed red.”Was that english or a heart attack?”

Keith’s normal cool composure melts away, as he stutters again. “Will you go on a date with me? Saturday?”

Lance snorts. For once, it’s not him being embarressed. And besides, it’s a nice change to see someone so cool, calm and collected freak out; it shows Lance that Keith is still human, not someone unobttainable or up on a pedestal.

“Or we could just call this a date. I mean, I imagine that’s why you’re here, right?” Lance offers him a second lemonade, hidden in the folds of his blanket.

“Is it that obvious?” As Keith takes the drink, his hand brushes against Lance’s. For once, he’s not wearing his gloves.

“A bad boy like you, going to watch a meteor shower? You’d never come here for just the stars.” Lance says, just as the crowd’s background babble begins to grow, punctuated by the sound of camera shutters. 

The meteors are bursting like popcorn in the sky, and Lance can’t help but grin. A sight like this is so rare; he’s so happy, that he was able to plan something this big to share the stars with everyone.

Keith’s composure has returned, along with his signature smirk. “Maybe I came for a different view.”

And for the rest of the evening, Lance can’t stop smiling.


	31. Shance: Illness

A fic for a sick friend. XD Shiro takes care of a sick Lance.

Lance got sick all the time on Earth. He’d been sick every Christmas for the past five years, and usually was out of commission for at least another week or two during the spring. He had no idea what was wrong with him; probably some weird space fly or something. Coran had given them all some sort of vaccine after they had first arrived, but   
Lance had known even then that he was going to get sick. Statistically, they were more likely to die from illness than anything else.

But that statistic didn’t scare Lance. Not at all. 

“I’m going to die!” He manages as he bends over, last night’s dinner making it’s way back up his throat. Shiro thrusts a bucket underneath him just before it splatters onto his blanket.

Shiro rubs his back reassuringly. The fabric of his shirt sticks to the sheen of sweat that covers his skin. It’s damp enough for Lance to feel the cool metal of Shiro’s hand through it. “You’re not going to die, Lance. It’s just like the flu; it’ll pass in a few days or so.”

“For you, maybe, Mr. ‘practically-adonis’. I get sick all the-” Lance starts, and then his stomach clenches again, and oh, god, how can he possibly have more to throw up? 

More green, acidic tasting goo spills into the bucket. The taste lingers on his tongue as he sits back up, using the backboard for support. “I get sick all the time. And this is like, level ten of flu’s. It’s a space flu.”

Shiro chuckles, and places the pot back on the side of the bed. “And you’ll live. When I got sick the first time, I didn’t even have a vaccine to ward off the worst of it and I had to fight in the arena anyways.”

Lance coughs, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Does that mean I’ll have to go to training?”

Shiro brushes the hair stuck to his forehead back, even though it’s undoubtedly gross. “I think I’ll let it pass. Just this once.”

The alarm starts to ring, and Shiro looks away, distracted. “Everyone, report to the bridge!” Coran calls over the intercom. 

Shiro turns back to Lance, an apologetic smile on his lips. “You’ll be okay by yourself, okay? Just call if you get worse.” And even though Lance’s breath undoubtedly smells bad from him being sick, Shiro presses a chaste kiss to his forehead. He leaves Lance alone, sick as a dog, but somehow, it doesn’t seem too bad. After all, if Shiro thinks he can handle it, he knows he can.


	32. Pidge's birthday

“Don’t run me into a wall.” Lance’s hands rest on her shoulders lightly, just barely guiding her. Her steps were slow and unsure; she didn’t want to run into anything because of his inattentiveness. 

“I won’t.” He promises. His squeezes her shoulders reassuringly.

Pidge’s foot rams into something. Hard. She hisses. “Fail.”

“Sorry.” 

She still didn’t get the point of blindfolding her. Whatever the new tech looked like, she didn’t find it necessary to build up the suspense this way. Hell, just the fact that they’d gotten new tech is surprise enough for her. Their funds were hard to liquidate, since all of the Altean money that they had was useless, and most of the GAC (Galra Accepted Currency) that they had went towards essential supplies such as food, medical supplies, and weapons. 

Lance stops walking, and she jerks forward, held still by his grip. “Why’re we stopping?”

“Just a sec.” He releases her, and steps away. “Stay there. Don’t move.”

She offers him a thumbs up, and then she hears the sound of a door sliding open. She can just barely hear the murmur of voice through the door, but for the most part, all is silent. Or at least, as silent as it can get on a spaceship. No matter what, the Castle of Lions was filled with a gentle hum from the engines and life support systems. For the most part, this noise was ignorable, but when there was nothing else to distract you, it suddenly seems loud. The door opens again, and Lance grabs her hand.

“Come on,” He says as her tugs her into the room. It suddenly feels warmer, and she can sense several gazes on her. Lance pulls the blindfold off of her eyes, and she blinks. “Happy Birthday!” They chorus.

All of the Voltron team stands around the kitchen table. A cake (oh god. It smells like peanut butter!) sits in the middle of it, four sparkling sticks causing shadows to flicker across their faces. There’s a small stack of presents on the end of the table, half of them poorly wrapped, the other half looking like they came straight out of a catalog. It dawns on her: Today is her birthday.

“How-How’d you know?”

Lance beams. “I asked Shiro, and I’ve been keeping track of everyone’s birthdays since we got out here.” His smile falls a bit. “I mean, my math probably isn’t perfect, so it could be April second or fourth instead, but-”

Tears prick at her eyes. She hasn’t even thought about things like birthdays or holidays since her family went missing. It hadn’t even occurred to her to count down to it since Voltron became a thing. She has to jump a little, but she manages to wrap her arms around his neck. “Thank you.” She whispers.

She pulls back, and smiles at them. They really have become like a family. “Thank you.” She repeats, this time to everyone.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Me and Coran spent like, a week figuring out how to get a peanut butter flavor.” Hunk says, pushing the cake a little closer.

She beams. “I love you guys.”

(Because I may or may not have lost track of time and forgotten about Pidge’s b-day until this morning, this is a little short. No ships in this one, although if you squint, you can probably find Pidgance in here. Happy birthday Pidge!)


	33. Kidge: Pretty pissed off

There was impulsiveness, and then there was Keith. 

When you’ve been fighting non-stop for the past two hours, and your comrades are nearly dead of exhaustion, going off on your own is not a good idea. Hell, going off on your own is almost never a good idea when you’re outnumbered and outgunned. 

Keith does anyways.

Pidge notices when Keith breaks away, mostly because he leaves Hunk vulnerable to three Galran cruisers. He can’t shake them off of his tail. She manages to swerve in last minute, tangling them together with vines that die almost immediately after being exposed to the void. Her lion whines at the loss of life, however petty. The three ships crash into each other, a series of explosions running through them until they’re dead in the water. “Thanks, Pidge.”

“No problem, Hunk.” Green shows her Keith’s path, heading straight for the main battleship. “You should get back to the others. I need to cover Keith.”

“He’s doing one of those ‘I’m-a-badass-and-need-no-help-whatsoever’ things?” Hunk asks as he swings back toward Lance and Shiro’s location.

She grins, and spits sarcastically. “Of course he is. And now I have to go cover his ass before he gets himself killed.”

Hunk doesn’t comment (he knows better than to try and hold a conversation with her when she’s pissed), and then she’s left on her own. Keith’s comm is still turned off, and while she still has a connection with the others, they’re busy holding off the Galra in her and Keith’s stead; if she wants to stop Keith, she’s gonna have to do it alone. The Red lion is headed straight for the largest cluster of ships, which they had been avoiding. Flying directly into it would put Red under heavy fire, which even Yellow wouldn’t be able to handle sustained damage from. Damn it! There was a reason they were picking them off slowly from the outskirts, instead of heading straight in. 

She guides Green past three fighters that attempt to corner her, and turns around with a sharp three-sixty to shoot them down. A mid-class cruiser aims it’s external cannons at her, and she shoots them down, albeit too late. It’s lasers scorch Green’s left flank, and her left leg aches faintly. 

“Sorry, girl.” She mutters as she follows Keith into the fray. Finally, she gets close enough for their helmet comms to get a signal. “Keith!” 

“Stay back Pidge. I’ve got this.” Keith says, his face popping up on her screen again. She can see the red trail of wiped away blood under his nose. It's obvious that he doesn't ‘got this’.

“You’re lion isn't built to take this many hits. You need to back out, now.” She orders, shooting two fighters that have gotten hooked on his trail. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Keith frowns but doesn't reply.

“Keith.” She pleads, her lion whining as another hail of lasers pellet her back. Pidge’s back burns with ghost pain, echoing Green’s. 

Keith frowns, and then slams his fists into the dashboard. Red roars, and it’s unclear who it’s directed at. “Fine.” He snarls, steering Red around in a sharp ninety-degree turn.

Pidge waits for him to pass her before turning around and following him back to the outer cluster. “And turn your comm back on.”

He doesn’t reply, but the red blinking light on her dash disappears, and Shiro’s directions turn to reprimands.

“Keith, where did hell did you go? You need to cover Hunk; his armor isn’t gonna hold up forever.” Shiro is too focused on the battle to say more about Keith’s recklessness, and the comms fall silent aside from the occasional order or murmured exclamation of victory.

It takes another two hours before they beat back the Galra, and another three that they are forced to sit through a diplomatic dinner. Throughout the rest of the day, all she can think about is how close they came to death in that moment. All because Keith had to be the hero. She’d thought that he’d grown out of his impulsive tendencies, that he’d at least learned to control them until he could think through it. Pidge guesses that she was wrong.

During dinner, neither of them had spoken, although she did occasionally look up to glare at him. The redness of his face was enough to let her know that he saw, but she couldn't do much about it until they got back to the castle. Even then, during debriefing and changing and the walk to their rooms, they hadn't spoke. It wasn't until the door slid shut behind them that she let the first of her angry words dribble out of her mouth.

“You could've fucking died out there!” The words sound less like the hot and angry ones she intended, and more like a plead. It is one, she realizes. She's pleading with him because god dammit, he keeps doing this and one of these days no one is gonna get there in time to save him from himself.

“And I didn't. I lowered the-” He doesn't even look at her as he pulls back his sheets, and slides in between them. 

She marches over to him, and grabs his night shirt, pulling him up to look at her. He could easily push her away, force her to leave him alone, but he doesn't. He just sits there and stares at her, eyes angry and hands shaking. “Don't lie.” 

Pidge doesn't want to let him think that his behavior was acceptable, but she doesn't think that anything she does will change him, because that's what this is. It's a part of him, and she's known this from the start. She practically rams her face into his, their foreheads only avoiding collision because of Keith, tilting his head at just the right moment. He relaxes, tenseness leaving his body as she pulls at his shirt, tugging until he raises his hands and pulls it off, flinging it across the room to hit the door.

“I could've handled it.” He manages between huffed breaths, lips still pressed to hers. She bites at his lower lip, giving him an ultimatum: shut up or lose your lip.

His own hands start to wander from her waist and under her shirt. His hands are warm to the tough, calluses familiar against her smooth skin. Keith’s fingers pull at the underwire of her bra, and then unclasp the hooks keeping them shut. The garment is tossed to the floor as he squeezes her tit; it barely fills his hand, but that doesn’t deter him from playing with them. His other hand tweaks her nipple, and then the other, each one sensitive enough to make her gasp as gently sucks on one before attempting to move onto the other. She pushes him down to the bed.

“You almost got killed today.” She practically growls, pressing fierce kisses to his neck and collarbone, each one slowly getting becoming more like a bite. “and it's killing me. So we’re gonna fuck, because I know that I can't change your impulsiveness, no matter how much I want to. And you, are gonna shut the fuck up until we’re done. I don't wanna hear anything out of you.”

Keith looks like he wants to protest, but then she’s pulling off his boxers, and he buries whatever he’s gonna say for something more useful. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing.” She hisses back, tossing the offending article to the ground. 

He’s already half-hard (he always is, after a fight) and it doesn’t take more than a few strokes of her hand for him to harden all of the way. She considers continuing, letting him come before moving on, but then she remembers; this is hers. Her night, her punishment, her anger. It will be her choice when he was finally allowed to come. 

“Tap me if you can’t breathe.” She says, before moving farther onto the sheets. She sits on his face, mouth directly under her clit, and wonders if she gave him fair warning before deciding that it doesn’t matter. He didn’t give her fair warning when he ran off.

It only takes him a second to work through the shock. She feels the familiar slickness of his tongue against her, and her resolve fails. Her thighs tighten around his head, and her hands clench, first in the sheets, and then, in his hair as she presses his face harder against her pussy. His chest rumbles as he attempts to suppress a moan; he’s no stranger to playing rough. Pidge knows how much he loves it when they wake up the next morning, bruises patterning pale skin, a lingering soreness reminding them of what they spent the night doing. Normally, she’s content to let him lead, but not tonight.

Her legs clench around his face a final time as she comes into his mouth. She pulls back, rests on his chest for a moment as the aftershocks slowly fade away. “Round two?”

Keith nods, his face splotchy and red. 

Pidge slides off of the bed, and opens the drawer beside the bed. Luckily for them, condoms are essentially the same in Altean culture (except a it’s stronger, because with Altean shapeshifting abilities, you never know what size they’ll need), and the med-bay had plenty to spare. Both of their rooms have a pretty good stash. She grabs one and tears the plastic wrapping off with her teeth, and then pulls the rubber onto his dick. A groan escapes from between his clenched teeth, and her head snaps up to meet Keith’s gaze. 

“No.”

She lowers herself onto him, careful to get the angle right. She’s still sensitive from her previous orgasm, but she still has enough control to take it slow. Keith is choking himself, sputtering with every inch that she takes in, but he doesn’t dare to speak. She never does when it’s him that’s doing the ordering around.

For once, Pidge is glad for all of those training sessions that Shiro forced them to do, because without them, she wouldn’t have the strength to ride Keith, or at least, not like this. She makes it a point to rise off of him slowly, his cock slowly sliding out of her, until only the tip is submerged, before she slams down again. His eyes flash and he rolls over, effortlessly pushing her to the bed. His dick is halfway in her, and he quickly moves to correct that. 

“I was trying to finish it, okay?” Keith pushes into her, but the feeling of orgasm is slowly disappearing due to the change in position. Pidge lifts her legs up and hooks them together behind Keith’s back. The next time he thrusts, she feels the familiar tightening in her stomach (technically her uterus). The feeling surprises her, and she chokes on the words that she was going to say. “I thought that I could hurry it up, maybe take down the command ship. Then we’d be fine. No one would have damages to their lion, and the battle would be over that much faster.”

“You almost fucking died!” She repeats, because that is all that she can think about right now. He almost died, and he’s trying to make excuses? Especially right now, when the feeling in her stomach is growing tighter and tighter, like a violin string pulled taut, and she’s finding it hard to keep listening, to keep being angry at him. Maybe this was his plan; let her get all delirious from orgasm so she’d stop being angry that much faster.

“I would’ve fallen back if I were seriously in danger, Pidge. Don’t you at least trust me to know that?”

Pidge is done. She comes, all words leaving her mind because all she can think about is the color red, and pleasure and how fucking done she is. As she’s coming down, Keith grunts, his arms shaking as he comes, warmth spreading; she can feel it through the condom, pressing against her but unable to really touch her. He pulls out as soon as he’s done, and rolls over beside her.

They’re both breathing deeply, air escaping them no matter how hard they try to hold onto it, just like Pidge’s anger. No matter how hard she tries to hold onto it, it’s leaving her, and now she just feels cold. “I trust you, Keith.” She says, turning her head to look at him. “But I still get scared for you. I don’t want to lose you too.”

She reaches over, and threads her fingers through his. At first, he doesn’t respond, but then he tightens his hand over hers, and squeezes reassuringly. “I’ll try and do better, okay?”

“Okay.” It’s a lie. She’s gonna lose him to this war, just like she lost her family, and there’s nothing that she can do about it, except wait, and live every day as it comes.


	34. Shallura: Cowboy AU/Fancy ball

The sun seems to set forever, in one long expansive moment. Allura hadn’t seen one like this in a while. Even from the castle, which was the tallest building in the remainder of her tribe, the trees which hid their location also hid the view of the sun, disappearing in the orange dunes. She supposes that she should thank Shiro for it; she wouldn’t be around to see it, if he hadn’t come back for her. He always did, even when it was dangerous, or inconvenient. She supposed that she was lucky to have found a man such as him to lead Voltron.

She sits on the top of the nearest dune. The Paladins are riding back into town now. She can see their horses, and the cloud of dust that follows them, slowly approach the town. She knows where Lance, and Keith are going; the local bar is always their destination after a long, or particularly arduous battle. Lance always claims that he’s there for the women, although he never buys one for the night. Keith says he goes for the liquor, but Allura never sees him drink more than a single glass. She doesn’t know where Hunk and Pidge go. Sometimes she passes by the gunsmith, and sees her in there, working on a contraption. Hunk is sometimes there with her, sometimes not. It’s what Shiro does after that confounds her. He doesn’t drink alcohol, doesn’t mess around with the townsfolk. He collects their reward money, and takes a walk in the desert. Sometimes Allura walks with him. They talk about their lives before and of what they’ve lost. Sometimes he doesn’t walk, and they have a room to themselves in whatever rundown hotel they’re closest to. Those are the nights that she likes the best, when she can pretend that there isn’t a war going on, that she isn’t the only female left of her tribe, and the last Altean of royal blood.

One of the townsfolk, a woman in fancy but not garish dress, taps her on the shoulder. “Miss, if yer not too busy, we’d like to thank y’all for yer service. I know that we ain’t too fancy and we ain’t all that rich, but we’d like to do something for ye all the same.”

Allura smiles. How could she say no? She could hear that quiet pride in the woman’s voice, and she as hell wasn’t going to deny her; it warmed her heart to know that they were already picking up the pieces and returning to a semblance of what life was like before the Galra. “That’s very kind of you, and I’m sure the Paladins will appreciate it.”

The woman nods and points at a store, down the middle of main street. “I own the clothes shop. When they get here, send ‘em to me, and I’ll fix ‘em right up.” She beams, and leaves Allura to her own devices. 

She waits there, on that sandy dune, until they slow to a stop in front of her. Lance and Keith are bickering, while the others look on exasperatedly.

“I got here firster than you.”

“The word you’re looking for, is ‘before’.” Keith corrects, gritting his teeth. His horse snorts below him.

Lance shakes his head. “Don’t matter what word I used, I made it back before you did, right Princess?” They both turn to her expectantly. 

Allura honestly hadn’t been paying attention. She says as much.

Lance sighs dramatically, and slides off of his horse. He grabs the reins and leads him towards the stable. “Course she wasn’t. Looking at Shiro’s, what she was.”

Allura blushes, and Shiro laughs. He slides off of his own horse and offers her a hand, which she gingerly takes. As she stands, sand falls from her battle-clothes in a cascade. “We’ve been invited to a party.”

“Have we now?” Shiro hands his reigns to Pidge, as Hunk takes Allura’s horse. They start to walk into town, their footsteps swallowed by the sand.

Allura points at the woman’s shop. “The woman who works there, she wants to give us clothes too.”

Above them, the stars are just starting to come out, pinpricks of light appearing like flowers bursting through the ground. If she really looks for it, she knows that she’ll be able to see her father’s star. She doesn’t look. Shiro looks down at his hand. It’s gloved, as it always is, but there’s a hole torn through it that allows the metal underneath to be visible. He clenches it. “We don’t need a party, or new clothes. They don’t need to waste the money on us after they already paid.”

Allura shakes her head indignantly, and takes a few steps in front of him, blocking his way. “You have to go, we all do. It’s a matter of pride, Shiro, to at least be able to thank those that freed them, when they couldn’t. You-”

He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll go, alright? I’m sure the others will enjoy the night off.”

Allura beams, and they start walking again, her steps more akin to a skip than Shiro’s gait. They push open the doors to the shop, and step inside. Surprisingly, the shop has electricity; bulbs illuminate the corners of the room, and a lamp lights the center desk. The shopkeeper, the woman from earlier, smiles and steps forward from behind the counter.

“You came.” She pulls a rack from behind the counter, and all Allura can think is that there’s no way that they could actually afford stuff that nice. “Take yer pick.”

Behind them, the door opens again, and the others press through. Lance’s face seems to light up as the shopkeeper repeats herself. “Yes!” Lance mutters under his breath.

As the four Paladins rummage through the rack, the shopkeeper gently grabs her elbow and guides her to the back of the store. “I have somethin’ for ye. Somethin’ better than what I’s got at the front of the store.”

Allura tries to protest. “I couldn’t take something so expensive without paying you for it.”

The shopkeeper smiles and unlocks a closet door. It swings open to reveal a dress. “I’s never gonna sell the thing anyways. Too nice for a town like this.” She picks the dress up off the hook and thrusts it into Allura’s arms. “Go, go, try it on.”

Allura relents, and steps into the only open changing stall. It’s only after she strips off her own attire that she really looks at the dress. It’s short, and only goes down to her knees. All the better, she thinks, as it won’t be stained by the dust as easily. It’s a pale blue color, one that could be mistaken as a light grey if seen in a dim light. It’s skirt is a simple a-line, that leads up to a relaxed bodice, with ruffled off the shoulder sleeves. 

It’s beautiful, she thinks, and nothing at all like Altean dresswear. But it’s close enough. 

She slips it on quietly, and when the shopkeeper appears at the door, she lets her in to help lace her in. 

When she leaves the changing stall, the others are already dressed. Their suits are almost the same, except for small tidbits here and there. Keith still wears his holster, and wears his shirt unbuttoned to partially hide it. Lance has a fedora tilted over his face in an attempt to hide how his gaze wanders back to Keith every so often. She wonders if they would’ve gotten together by now, if they both weren’t so afraid of being ostracized. In her tribe, it didn’t matter what made up a couple, as long as they loved each other. Beside them, Pidge fiddles with her pants, finally deciding to tuck them into her boots. Otherwise, her appearance is neat, and doesn’t give away her gender, nor her age. Hunk wears his headband still; Allura remember ever seeing him without it. The only one who looks strikingly different is Shiro. He wears a full suit, rather than the discarded mix matching outfits that the others wear. He wears a bow tie, slightly crooked, and a smile, even more so.

“You look nice.” He says, offering her his arm. She takes it, even though she can hear Lance and Pidge snickering behind her.

They offer a thanks to the shopkeeper, who looks mighty smug and they start walking to the local bar. The scene is a familiar one; prostitutes wait at the bar, flirting coquettishly with the patrons. Men sip on their whiskey and rum, and eye the newcomers suspiciously until they recognise them as their rescuers. They tip their hats in recognition as the Paladins find open seats. Lance and Keith disappear to the bar, and Pidge finds a table to herself in the corner. Hunk joins her and Allura hears the beginning of a conversation as she walks past. 

The bartender, an older man of native descent, smiles and offers then a bottle of something alcoholic. Shiro takes it and gives his thanks. 

“Third room on the right.” He says, nodding towards a staircase near the back. “It's open, clean and has a lock.”

Shiro blushes and sputters. “Ah, I, um, yes. Thank you.”

Aluta giggles. For such a strong and decisive man, he is surprisingly easy to embarrass. She leads him towards the back, his face still a bright red, and tows him to the empty room. 

It has a bed, a big one, and a single light hanging from the center of the room. It's nowhere as nice as the castle, but it's homey and warm, and that’s good enough for their purposes. She sits on the bed, and he pours two shots, passing one to her. She knocked it back in a single gulp. It burns in the back of her throat, but she didn't mind. Altean spirits were much stronger. 

She laughs at their awkward silence. “A fancy party for two, huh?”

Shiro smiles at her and downs another shot. “I think I'd like this party better if we weren't wearing fancy clothes.”

“So you’d prefer if we wore nothing at all?” She asks mischievously.

To anyone else, Shiro's words would’ve seemed like flirtation, or at least an invitation to it. However, it was obvious that the man hadn't thought of it that way. His face darkens with blush, and he looks at her seriously. “Would you like to, um, do it?”

“Yes,” She clarifies. “I want to have sex with you.”

Shiro’s face, tanned by the sun, still carries the ability to blush, and it’s a pleasant look for him, Allura admits. She leans over into his lap, and tangles her fingers in her hair. She doesn’t even have to do more than tug before he’s leaning over, and their mouths meet. Shiro tastes like dust, and feels like coming home. 

He pulls her into his lap, and his hand drifts down to hold her waist. She pulls away. “Ah,” She huffs, her breath lost in the throes of their embrace. “I think we forgot a step.”

She steps back and pulls loose the bow that holds her dress together. The garment loosens, and she drops it to the floor. Beside her, Shiro is pulling his clothes off without a second thought, with no care for how the fabric stretches as frays as he pulls it over his body. Allura can’t lie; his chest distracts her every time. It’s covered in scars, silver scars that criss cross over his stomach, and waist and back, overlapping to create scars across his skin. Muscles ripple beneath them, showing his strength in passivity. He’s beautiful, even after all that’s happened to him. He’s perfect.

“Distracted much?” He smirks, pulling down his pants. Her corset is still bound, and she’s not sure how she forgot; it hinders her chest, and the way it heaves, like a panting dog’s when she’s with him. She doesn’t bother to undo all of the bows. With a single tug, it’s ripped in half, lonesome threads hanging from the torn boning. She drops it to the ground, leaving her bare. 

It used to astonish Shiro, how comfortable she was without all of the confines of Western society. Now, he’s much the same. She can’t remember the last time they had to wait to pull down a pair of underwear. And then they’re skin to skin, nothing separating them except their own bodies. 

He presses her against his chest, tilts his head down to press a kiss to her mouth. She can feel his breath brush against her cheeks and then it’s no longer tender, but ravenous, and they are no longer mere humans, but wolves consuming one another in one endless moment. They stumble back onto the bed, Shiro rolling over so that she can rest on top. Her slit parts eagerly as his cock slides against her. She spreads her legs, and lifts them to wrap around his waist. 

“Fuck me.” She whispers, her breath hot against his ear. 

He thrusts, and in one movement, he’s fully inside her. His breath brushes against her face, like steam, hot and heavy from the kettle. He pulls out, almost all the way, and it leaves her feeling empty. Allura presses up against against him, and he chuckles, before plunging back in. Allura’s stomach tightens as he strikes against something deep inside of her. Her nails dig into his back, and then into his hair as she pulls his face to hers for a kiss. His rhythm slows as she gently opens his mouth, the bittersweet aftertaste of the alcohol that they had previously shared coating her tongue. 

“I think I love you.” He says as they separate, his lip moving against the bared skin of her shoulder. As he bites down, he strikes something else inside of her, something deeper, more tantalizing now that they’re moving slower. He feels so familiar, more so than her own hand does; he feels like coming home. 

“I-” Her breath hitches as she comes, sweet release stealing her words. “Quito le moine.” She moans, her mind unable to translate to English.

Shiro pulls out, just as his own orgasm comes, rocking though him with a fevor. She watches his face, the way that it clenches and seems to relax at the same time; it’s a private face, one that no one else but her will ever see. 

As soon as he’s done, he pulls out and rolls to the side of her. “What was that? ‘Quito’ something or other?”

Allura flashes him a bright grin. “I said, I love you more.”


	35. Klance: Stay with me

Fuck. 

A four letter word.

Commonly used in two ways.

1\. To convey a sense of dread or anger, or  
2\. To convey that you wish to copulate with someone, hard.

Lance heard it at least once a day, and on occasion, he’s say it too (usually because of a stubbed toe or particularly nasty fall during training.) After all, they were five teenagers in the middle of an intergalactic war; it’d be truly strange if they didn’t cuss. When he was younger, vulgar language had been shocking, and caused him to blush and stutter just by hearing it. Over the years of school at the Garrison, and time away from the overprotectiveness of his mother, it no longer bothered him, and it didn’t fluster him to say it. Except now, all of his immunity to the word seems to have melted away, and he can barely keep his cool together long enough to speak.

“W-what?” Lance stammers, the world catching in his throat like a bone. He couldn’tve heard him right. Keith would never use ‘Fuck’ in that way.

Keith snarls, blotches of purple swirling underneath his skin. “I said, Fuck me. Do I need to find someone else to do the job?”

Keith just used ‘Fuck’ in that way. 

There’s something about the almost hungry look in his eyes that’s got Lance melting like a popsicle in the sun. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that a purple Keith is wrong, and that his rival would never bare himself to Lance like that, not without a fight first, but it doesn’t seem to matter. 

“Okay.” He says, reclaiming his voice. “Do you, uh, have supplies or something?”

“Neither of us is gonna get pregnant, and I don’t need lube.” Keith says, his voice strained, as if he’s been yelling or screaming, and he can barely speak anymore. Something about his expression, teeth bared and eyes wide, leaves him looking desperate and unbearably cute. No- cure was meant to describe things like puppies, and kittens and those adorable fluffy bug things that Pidge attempted to smuggle back into the castle. Sexy, that’s the word he’s looking for. “So hurry the hell up, and do it already!”

Lance swallows and nods, then pulls his pants down. His underwear comes down with it, preventing him from having one of those tantalizing strip moments (curse all those pornos he watched back on Earth for not teaching him how awkward this could be). He steps out of his discarded clothes and stands awkwardly by the side of the bed. Keith is tangled in the sheets, his modesty only protected by the placement of it, tangled around his ankles and upper thighs. He’s clutching his pillow again, part of it is shoved into his mouth between clenched teeth. Another wave of pain rocks through his body, and Lance is hesitant to touch him.

Keith glares at him, and without releasing his grip on the pillow, mutters angrily. “What are you waiting for?”

“Can- can I kiss you?” Lance feels stupid, asking that after Keith has asked him not once, but three times to fuck him, but he’d feel bad if he didn’t and Keith wanted this to be as impersonal as possible. After all, he’s only here in the first place because no one else volunteered; and somebody had to help their stand in leader though this ‘heat’, as Coran had called it.

Keith relaxes as the pain lessens, and rolls onto his back. He pants, hot and heavy, gaze trained once more on Lance. His expression is unreadable. Scratch that; it’s only telling him that Keith is hungry, and not for food. “If you want to.” He manages.

Lance can’t tell if Keith wants to or not, but he figures, hell, if this is going to be his only chance to be with his crush, he’s going to enjoy it. Lance climb onto the bed, and crouches over Keith. His dick brushes against Keith’s stomach as he presses his mouth onto Keith’s. Keith tastes sweet, not at all what Lance had expected. His mouth is pliant against Lance’s, and after a while, he realizes that he’s being given control. 

He presses harder against his, gently prying his mouth open for his tongue to explore. The Red Paladin moans against his lips, hands grabbing onto his back to pull his closer, and then to scratch his skin as Lance reaches down to grab his erection. He sounds like a an actor from a cheap porno the way he moans, as Lance’s palm slides down it’s length to grab his balls. Lance massages them, hands just far enough from his dick to tease him with the prospect of sweet release as he breaks their kiss. His black hair tickles Lance’s face as he presses a hot kiss to the soft place just below the earlobe. He kisses him again, and again, each one going lower as Lance inches closer to the visible area of his neck, which his hair and shirt won’t hide. 

He can’t help but think of how cute it’ll be later, when Mullet looks in the mirror and finds marks that Lance gave him, visible for everyone to see. Lance moves his hand away from his balls, eliciting a growl from Keith. 

“What, you can’t handle a little foreplay?” The Blue Paladin teases, resting his hand on Keith’s upper thigh. He traces patterns towards his core, never going to far as to actually touch his cock.

Keith grins, his lower lip red from the pressure of his tooth digging into it. It’s a twisted parody of his usual smile, flashed whenever training becomes overly competitive. Lance swears that he can hear it, as his fingers dig into Lance’s back wickedly. “Of course I can, Sharpshooter.” 

Lance didn’t think that it was possible for him to get any harder, but apparently, it is.

He has to stifle a moan of his own as Keith wraps his hand around Lance’s dick. It’s a deliciously taunting pressure, even more so because the Red Paladin refuses to move his hand, no matter how much Lance bucks and twists. Lance wraps his mouth on Keith’s shoulder, his teeth creating crescent-shaped indents on his sun-kissed skin. Purple blooms under his touch, and he’s not quite sure if it’s because of this weird Galra puberty thing going on, or because of his actions. Keith gasps, and his hand spasms around Lance’s cock before abruptly letting go.

At first, Lance assumes that it’s because of something pleasurable; he’d been doing pretty good up until then. But when he pulls away, the expression on Keith’s face is not flushed, and he wears no grin. Instead, his bitten lip is bleeding, a thin line of red dripping down his chin from where his tooth has penetrated the skin. His hands leave Lance’s back to clutch at his stomach. Right. This is the whole reason why Lance had come in the first place. As Coran had said, the only way to end a Galran heat cycle was for him to reach release. Otherwise known as, ‘you have to make Keith cum or else he’s going to be in pain for a while’. 

Lance presses a soft kiss to his forehead, and sits up, separating from Keith. The Red Paladin doesn’t seem to notice Lance’s attempts to roll him onto his stomach, and for some reason, he feels as heavy as a rock. Lance sits back on the sheets, skin suddenly cold. If this pain wasn’t gonna stop until he was fucked, and Keith was practically unresponsive, maybe he could try it from this angle. Except there was no way that he’d be able to move, especially since their hips don’t aline. One of Keith’s pillows, deserted by the headboard, presses against his back. 

Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner.

Lance pushes the pillow under Keith’s ass, the cushion lifting his wet hole for display. Lance doesn’t have time to examine it, (he can’t leave Mullet in pain like that any longer), thrusts, his erect dick missing his asshole by a mile. 

Keith somehow manages to snicker. “I thought your name was ‘sharpshooter’. Better learn to aim-” He cuts himself off with choked whine as Lance thrusts again, this time hitting his mark. 

If pussy felt good, then Keith’s ass felt like heaven. It was tight, but it was also wet, much more than it should’ve been without lube. He pulls back, and something slippery slides out with him onto the bed sheets. As much as he’d like to look at it a bit closer, Keith isn’t giving him the chance. Apparently, his thrusting isn’t fast enough for him, as he shifts forward to take more of Lance in. The Blue Paladin gets the message, and resumes with a faster rhythm. In, and out, each repetitive thrust causing a loud slapping noise to resonate in the room. He’s getting closer, closer to cumming, and even though he knows that he should slow down, focus on Keith, he can’t. A final push sets him over the edge, and doesn’t have enough time to pull out before he’s cumming. Thick, white mixes with the clear slippery stuff from before as he pulls out and flops awkwardly onto the sheets. White streaks paint Keith’s stomach, and Lance takes some solace in knowing that he accomplished his mission.

Neither of them feel any inclination to speak, leaving the room without human noise. The ship’s engine whirs in the background, punctuated by their restless breaths. 

The embarrassment that had hindered Lance in the beginning of their encounter is slowly returning, and while Lance would be happy to stay there, and nap beside Keith, their bodies damp with sweat and exertion, he doesn’t think he can. He only had a chance to fuck Keith because he needed it. Not because he wanted Lance, not like that. He stands, the bed springing up in the absence of his weight. 

Keith grabs Lance’s wrist. There’s barely any pressure there; he could keep going if he wants to, but he doesn’t. He waits.

“Thank you.” Keith says, his voice hoarse. 

“No problemo,” Lance replies, a tired smile resting on his face. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go take a nap or something.”

Lance isn’t sure what he expected. Something mocking maybe. A tease about his lack of stamina perhaps. Instead, Keith tugs his arm pulling Lance back. When he speaks, his voice is soft. “You could stay here, with me.”

The Blue Paladin kind of wants to say no, to just end this before he gets his hopes up. It’ll only hurt more later if he has to endure more intimate things with Keith. As he turns, his gaze latches onto Keith’s face. Sweat plasters long strands of his hair to his face and forehead. His cheeks are red, his ears too. Hickey’s are starting to form on his neck, and a love bite mars his shoulder. Instead of looking angry that Lance made something that should have been pure business so personal, he looks, well, happy. His hopeful grin changes his mind, and Lance sighs. “Okay. Scoot over.” 

Keith rolls over, opening up enough space for Lance to properly lay on. He turns over the pillow and places it at the top of the bed. As Lance climbs in between the sheets, Keith drapes his arm over his waist and presses against him. His skin feels smooth, and warm, Lance thinks, more so than it should be for someone who never moisturizes. As he closes his eyes and prepares to give in to the promise of sleep, Keith murmurs into the nape of his neck. “You wanna do this again sometime?”

Before Lance can stop himself, he enthusiastically grins. “Sure. We can even call it ‘team bonding’ if you want.”


	36. Kidge: Just say it

Pidge isn’t one of those girls who puts special importance on things like anniversaries or Valentine’s day. She doesn’t need, or particularly want bouquets of flowers or boxes of chocolates or huge material displays of affection. Even so, she does still expect a certain level of trying from her boyfriend, and so far, he hasn’t done a single thing.

Pidge frowns at her computer screen, and at the lines of source code running across it. She’s barely done a thing since she’s sat down, and pulled her laptop out. She raises her hands above the keys again, but then her boyfriend walks in, sweaty from training, and all thoughts of productivity disappears.

She shuts the laptop closed and sets it on the dresser beside her.

“Hey.” Keith says, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Pidge crosses her arms. “Go take a shower.”

Keith tugs off his shirt and tosses it in the basket, and starts to pull off his pants. “I am.” He looks up and notices her evil eye. “Did I do something? You seem mad.”

“I am.” Pidge replies curtly. “And it’s more of something you didn’t do.”

Keith sits on the edge of the bed, clad only in his boxers. He meets Pidge’s angry gaze with his violet eyes, and Pidge gives up on being mad. He doesn’t know, she reasons. He probably never learned either from his parents or from TV how a relationship progresses. “How can I fix it?” He asks earnestly, reaching over to place a warm hand on her knee.

Pidge sighs. “You haven’t said that you love me yet, and we’ve been dating for almost a year.”

Keith’s brows furrow in confusion. “I haven’t?”

“No, you haven’t, and I’m getting tired of waiting for it.”

Keith crawls onto the bed, and grabs both of her hands. He presses a kiss to her knuckles and grins. “Katie ‘Pidge’ Holt, I love you.”

Pidge giggles at his formality. “I love you too.” She says, drawing him in for a kiss. She barely even notices the sweat caused dampness of his hair as she tangles her fingers in it.

They pull away and Keith slides off of the bed. “I really outta take a shower now.”

Pidge waves him off. “Go ahead.”

She guesses it really wasn’t that hard to get what she was after, if all she had to do was ask.

 

 


	37. Klance: Hands

They eat in a comfortable silence. Pidge is busy reading, and Shiro is shoveling food into his mouth with a strange sort of mechanicalness. Hunk is cleaning the kitchen, and Keith is watching, watching everyone carefully as he lifts spoonful after spoonful of food to his lips.

Lance offers Keith a naughty smirk- a reminder of what they’d done last night- before his gaze shifts to his gloved hands.

His hands aren’t smooth, but instead are covered in calluses and patches of hardened skin where the hilt of his sword has rubbed against him too many times. Lance had thought that his gloves would’ve protected against that, but he doesn’t mind that he was wrong.

His hands, they grab him with the same harshness he uses when they spar, paying no mind to the bruises they leave behind. Keith is nothing like the girls he’d messed around with back home. He doesn’t cling to Lance, or wait for him to trail kisses down his chest; he’s volatile, like a chemical reaction that just won’t hold back, and Lance is merely there for the ride.

Oh, his hands, they do amazing things to him. They manage to elicit sounds he’s never made before, just by a simple touch.

Lance thinks that his hands are what he’d been attracted to first, but the rest of him was just waiting to follow. His eyes seem brighter, impossibly deeper, and his voice incredibly smooth. Even his mullet is becoming a little bit more bearable.

Is this what falling in love is like? This strange compulsion to always be near him, to remember every word he says, and every glance he gives him? Lance isn’t sure, and he’s only slightly afraid to find out.


	38. Klance: movie night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't post often on Ao3, but I do post a lot on my tumblr: VoltronWordDump. Follow me on there for more stories and voltron content. And don't forget to review.

Movie night is probably Lance’s favorite bonding exercise. It’s like the only one that doesn’t call for exercise or mind melding (which he still doesn’t understand the point of), and is actually fun. Of course, they only have a limited selection to choose from, so it usually ends up being the same five movies, but still! Earth movies! Pillow forts! Attempts to make traditional movie snacks! Nothing could possibly make him miss it!

Except, he can’t find his USB with all of his movies on it, and the movie was supposed to start ten minutes ago.

“What’s taking you so long?” Pidge asks as she slips into his room. “You always watch the same two movies anyways. It shouldn’t be-”

She pauses and notices the disarray of his room. Normally it’s only slightly messy, but today, the floor is scattered with clothes and papers from his desks and drawers. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Lance replies automatically. “I just can’t find my stick, so, it’s, um, kinda hard to play my movie without it.”

Pidge stares at the wall pensively.

“And I know it’s here, because that’s where I always put it and-”

“Shh.” Pidge says, holding a finger to her lips. “I think I know where it is.” She grabs his hand and tugs him into the hall.

“What do you mean, ‘I know where it is’?”

“I mean, I think I know who borrowed it.” Pidge drags him down the hall, and he realizes where they are headed. “So don’t be mad, okay? He was just going to copy the files and then give it back.”

“How do you know that?” Lance grumbles. He’s spent a better part of the day searching for the darn thing, and worrying that he’d lost it. It’s a bit annoying knowing that Pidge has known it’s whereabouts the entire time.

Pidge stops in front of Keith’s room and knocks. When no one replies, she types something into the key pad, and it opens for her.

She steps inside, and grabs the simple, metal stick from off of a shelf and stuffs it into his hand. “Here.”

“Uh, thanks?” Lance says, following after her to the tv room. “But why did he have it?”

Pidge stops and looks around her suspiciously before tugging Lance down and whispering into his ear behind her hand. “Keith may or may not actually like your collection of musicals, and may or may not have wanted to watch them again on his own.”

Lance stares at her, but her expression doesn’t lost it’s seriousness. He bursts out laughing. “And he said ‘Grease’ was a stupid movie. Ha!”

Pidge glares at him and motions for him to lower his voice. “But you can’t tell anyone, alright?”

Lance sighs and wipes fake tears from his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I won’t.”

“Really.”

“I won’t.”

“Not even to tease Keith when he annoys you.”

Lance huffs. “Okay, well, not in public, but I can’t promise that.”

Satisfied with his promise, they step into the tv room, where the others await.

“What’re we watching?” Keith asks as Lance plugs in his drive.

Lance can’t help but to crack a smile as he replies, “Grease: the musical.” and Keith turns bright red.


	39. Plance: death woes

Pidge blinks lazily at the sun overhead. It’s tinted green-not at all like the bright, yellow one she’d grown up with. She wonders if it’s the ozone in the atmosphere that made the sky that color.

“Please, just- just-, hold on! Hunk’s coming and-”

What specific combination of gasses would make it /green/ though? Perhaps more carbon? Maybe methane?

“Pidge, look at me! Please, keep your eyes open. You can’t close them.”

It was probably the methane that made the air catch on fire. Blue had been aiming for the pod of Galra behind her, maybe twenty feet back, but the air, the air had let the fire spread, and it had consumed her too.

“I’m sorry. I’m-I’m so sorry.”

Pidge can’t feel most of body now. The armor has melted into her skin. Her body knows that it’s too late to do anything about it, and thus, no pain. She raises and arm arnyways, a burnt, blackened arm, and cups his cheek.

“It’s not your fault.” She croaks. Each words stings, and she wonders if that’s because she inhaled the fire or if it’s because of damage to the outside of her throat.”I love you.”

Lance sobs. “Those are goodbye words. Please, no, don’t leave me!”

Pidge doesn’t have the energy to reply further. She merely smiles, and watches his face, his stupidly handsome, lovable face, as her injuries consume her.


	40. Shance: Nightmares

The guard slides open the door, tosses a body onto the floor. The flash of light from outside the door make his eyes hurt, and he looks away. One of his cellmates begins to sob.

“Why’d they bring him back?” The crying one asks. Their voice is broken, like a vase shattered then glued back together. “I can’t- I can’t do this anymore!”

Someone else protests, but Shiro’s eyes are still closed, he doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t want the their body, burned and electrified by their meddling with the door imprinted into his mind. 

“Why did they bring back the body?” He asks, voice hoarse from a lack of water.

“We are all just bags of flesh,” Someone hisses. “How does sentience deny that?”

He wakes up with a scream building in the back of his throat. 

He searches the room, expecting to the see the cell still around him, but wait. He left that place behind a long time ago, didn’t he? He hears a quiet snore and turns to find Lance sleeps soundly beside him, face mask covering his eyes, Pidge’s earphone’s blasting music into his ears. 

He lets out a breath he hadn’t known that he’d been holding. He’s safe. He’s okay. 

Still, Shiro can smell the scent of burned flesh in his nose, can feel the prisoners rags wrapped around him. He shivers. 

Shiro lays back down, and pulls the covers up, pulling Lance close to him, like a teddy bear.

Lance pushes his mask up. “Babe, you okay?”

Shiro shakes his head.

“Okay. Do you wanna talk about it?” The sleepiness is audible in his voice, as if he were about to yawn. Lance turns to face Shiro, and studies his face for his reaction. Even when it’s the middle of the night, Lance finds time to care.

Shiro offers him a tiny nod. “But I’ll be fine. If I could just,” He squeezes Lance to emphasize the cuddling. “I think I’ll be fine.”

Lance kisses the tip of his nose and settles into his arms. “Whatever you need, boss. Whatever you need.”

Pressed closer than white on rice, Shiro manages to find sleep again, and lets his weariness give away to a dreamless slumber


	41. Hunay: Cinderella

“I have to go,” The girl says, pulling away from his grasp. The musicians continue to play their song, and around them, the other attendees continue to dance. “It’s almoat midnight.”

“Stay,” Hunk pleads, his thick hand dwarfing hers as he tries to draw her back. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I can’t.” She shakes her head sadly. 

Hunk straightens up. “Then I’ll look for you. I’ll check every house in this kingdom if I have to.”

The girl smiles softly, but then the clock chimes, and she’s racing through the crowd to escape. Hunk follows after her until she reaches the castle steps, and picks up the solitary shoe left behind. “I’ll find you,” He promises, and whether it’s more for her or for him, be isn’t sure. “I promise.”


	42. Kidge: dumbstruck

“You want me to…what?”

“I want you to push me.”

Keith raises one of his stupidly well shaped eyebrows, and crossss his arms. 

“Okay but, /why/?”

Pidge peers down over the side of the cliff. Allura and Lance have already jumped, and beckon her down from the water below. 

“Because I’m a mix of chicken and daredevil and Lance /can’t/ outdo me. He said I wouldn’t be able to do it, and I want to prove hin wrong.”

“So you want me to push you? Off of this cliff? Just to prove a point to Lance?”

Pidge nods. 

Keith grins. “I don’t think I’ve ever liked you more.” 

Pidge’s brain comes to a halt as she realizes what he’d said, but before she can say anything, he’s pushed her, and she’s falling through the air towards the water below. 

He likes me? She thinks in wonder, just before hitting the water. As she pops up, Allura and Lance give her a cheer. Keith gives a thumbs up from atop the cliff. Dazed, she can only blink, and think that same sentence over and over again. He likes me?


	43. Kidge: drop

Aw, thanks fam!

Pidge doesn’t know how to admit that shs’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Keith is being nice to her. Too nice. 

Last week, he offered to show her how to fight with a sword, and stuck with it, despite her continuously stepping on his feet. 

Last Monday, he shared half of his desert with her, without her saying a word. 

And just yesterday, he told her that she looked like she could murder someone easily; in other words, his version of a compliment. 

Pidge is wary of people suddenly being nice to her. Nice people were the ones who locked her in the janitor’s closet during recess. Nice people were the ones who cut her ponytails while she was one the bus. Nice people always ended up being the opposite of what they seemed like.

And besides, this is Keith she’s talking about. He lived in a shack, alone for a year; he himself admits to being emotionally stunted. If he’s being nice to her, then something is most definitely wrong. 

Someone steps into her workshop, and she looks up, and whodda guessed? It’s Keith. 

She sets her screwdriver down on the workbench, and wipes the grease of on her hands. “What’s up?”

Keith holds out a hand, grasping a handful of dying, browned flowers, likely taken from the last planet they’d stopped at. “These are yours.”

She furrows her brows. “Uh, I don’t own any flowers. You sure they’re not Lance’s or Allura’s or something?”

Keith drops them on top of her schematics, and then disappears as suddenly as he’d come.

Pidge stares at the wilted flowers, her face twisted into a confused pucker. “What the hell is going on?” She mutters, and wonders just when the other shoe will make it’s appearance and put her confused mind to ease.

(Excuse le shortness and le lack of editing.)


End file.
